Marrakesh

desert

With what currency can you measure
the worth of a human life?
By the grains of shifting sand on the dunes of Erg Chebbi
By the number of hues of an aurea borealis
By the droplets of water in the parched air as it hangs over nomads, traveling

It’s sunset.
When I kneel on the sand in Erg Chigaga, near M’hamid,
I see a mirage some distance away along the swell of the dunes.

And when I lie down, I close my eyes
I hear the clang-clang of Lilliputian weapons as tiny warriors fight
on my forehead, their leather boots make scuff-marks
down the length of my face.
They duel over women, weapons, territory, and nothing at all.
When I open my eyes, I see the desert sky
and stars falls down like rain.

Tiny travellers pack their
knapsacks,
rucksacks,
belongings bundled into bedsheets and slung over shoulders,
and make haste towards the borders of my stomach.
They fall down into my navel and wonder if time has stood still,
peer over the edges and
watch as their neighbours and friends continue on
in their journey.

Still others have declared war on me.
They take ropes made of camel-hair, braided ten-fold and strong,
they drive them with stakes into my flesh
and nail me down with hammers onto the desert floor.
I can’t move. I can’t move. I can’t move.

With what currency can you measure
the worth of a human life?

I won’t move.

Used LR preset "10,000 Light Years from Home"

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