The Not Mad Nomad

camel 3The Not Mad Nomad
John Taylor Jones

A nomad rode out
On the desert one day,
Across the scorching sand.
With no compass,
Map or GPS,
He already knew the land.

No one knew
Why he rode out that day
In the stifling desert heat.
But if he had
A spat with his wife:
What would simply be a repeat.

Her words could easily
Tear the hair
Off a camel’s back.
They could easily
Send him on his way
Across the desert tract.

Then the desert winds
Whispered to me,
“Her words are
Like a whipping lash.
Talk about a women’s ire,
She is very full of sass.”

The man said to his camel,
“She’s not all
That bad, you know.”
Camel, Melwah, said back to him,
“Afzal, The Better One,
She’s worse than a hammer throw!”

Afzal said to Melway,
“I’m not angry with Abal,
She is my desert rose.”
Melway said to Afzal,
“Abal has thorns and spikes
That she jabs you with
Day and night!
She has hatred in her toes.”

“I’m not mad,”
Said the nomad.
No, I’m not mad at all.”
“It’s a bad storm coming,”
Said Melway.
“Let’s take cover, Afzal!”

The winds were strong
And endless.
Sand blew here and there.
They buried Melway and Afzal.
Nobody knew quite where.

Abal sent out her family
To find her lost Afzal.
They searched for several days,
But they found nothing at all.

She cried for days
Saying that she was wrong.
Her awful words
Had sent him out,
And now Afzal was gone.

The desert winds
Again whispered to me,
“Afzal has no anger still.
However the camel,
Melway thinks Abal
Will always be a Shrill.”

Then the wind came back
Another day to say,
“Abal has changed her ways.
She is humbled
Into Quietness,
She never speaks a word.
She said that she
Will not speak again
Lest out comes evil words.”

The winds blew on and
Uncovered Afzal’s grave.
His body was taken to Abal
Where he rests this day.

She planted roses
To remember him
As one who had no guile.
Her man that she had
Sent away because
She had such bile.

Now her tears
Water her roses.
Ad she dreads the day
That anger conquered
And sent her man away.

The End

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