Desert Nocturne

The desert, as I discovered, is a strange place.

The drive was long and winding,

Through passages unknown and things unseen.

It was dark.

My head rocked from side to side,

My eyes, weary from reading,

Gave in to the hush of the night.

There was a gentle noise in that darkness

A sensitive rumbling at first,

Then a low hum, like a great insect stirring.

Yet when I opened my eyes, no insect was there.

Instead, a golden trail shimmered,

Spilling like liquid light across the sands,

Leading beyond the Atlas Mountains,

Through them, even.

The hum was the whisper of a scarab,

The pathfinder of the desert.

Drawn forward, I followed.

The air thickened, heavy with the scent of myrrh.

A warm wind coiled around me like silk,

And then—she stood before me.

Isis, veiled in moonlight, eyes deep as the Nile,

Held out her hand.

“You have come far,†she said.

Her voice was the rustle of palm leaves,

The hush of water meeting shore.

She lifted her veil,

And in that moment, I saw

The vastness of time,

The turning of constellations,

The secret names of things unspoken.

The desert is a strange place.

And on that night, beneath the watching stars,

I became a traveler not just of roads,

But of mysteries far older than sand.

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