Glimpses

In the white oasis
of an orange sun
a mocking bird is singing

of nomads and camels
of water and sand
of tales that are unforgiving

it sang and it sang
of the endless of night
and the wispers of those,never alright

then it flew and it fled
from the torchure of heat
from the hotness of glass not yet to be done

up and above
embrashing the sky
touching the dome of a land that never cries

and it saw the vastness of earth
the whiteness of clouds
the spotted dark of what lies in the ground

and the scorpion weaps
of the company lost
of the neighbouring bird which now is toast