In The Heart Of The Wild Red Moon
There are seasons for the moon to glow red: Only the shimmering grains of sand know why! It is when the glow of the dunes drives home the answered waiting; and hides the sands' fascination for broad space and reaching movement..and hides their fantastic knowledge in the constance of the goddess of change: Inside that heart of the throbbing redness awakened by mirroring the sands' secret Song hiding deep from within.
When space expands with ecstatical aching light: The golden stretch draws curving edges of floating dunes..Quickening with the urge to shift, the wind god stirs the sands..purging heat the specks mix their wholeness: Learned silence during deep cold nights; Learned subtlety in jet blacke velvetty of caresses of darkness.
Then learned to sing when the desert woke, to make sounds from the contemplation in time.. They turn themselves inside the currents of air astirring: Shifting the images of togetherness; Proximity resistance with the density of the bodies: When the season comes and the desert dips into moonlight.
Hanging upon the loyal great sky: The red moon seranades abundantly: Proud of the aloneness in immense private space: The moon turns drunkened from the changing shapes: Dunes flow into waves of the sands' mountain edges: Curving soft yet makes sharp lines of distinction. The wild red moon glows with extreme intensity: Forces from her core, bestirring silent dreaming: Fascinationally reflexive, the sands turned upon each other: Like seeds of secrecy without feathered wings: They fly and churn with borrowing force; And journeying along the dimensions, by borrowing concepts from the goddess of change; moving by sheer consciousness of the idea of a vacuum. Time's invisible hand etches designes with momentum: The throbbing fact of existence takes hold of ceaseless traveling: The landscape moves accordingly to the design of force. Potential energy creates dynamic penchants: Remaining the essence while expands and contracts...According to the structure of the law of excitement.
Inside each grain of sand that sparkles with destined distance: Holding a secret song, ancient as the age of heat: Together they keep one another's song a containted mystery, in the richness of the redness of the season's wild moon. The moon is red from her core emitting, Is cradling the palpating secrets of the compositions: Uttering determinantly the exactness of being free: Transporting the will power of separate peacehooddom: No longer the weeping from the seeds of discontent: The song have been formed and stayed with eternity like a revered ode. Time embraces the etching of existence: Onto the pages of the determination to act!
(For the Middle Easterners who love True Freedom)
