A scent of cumin and jasmine at dusk
The chanting of those who have traveled
Palm trees, yellowing grass
Barren mountains, others veiled in white
And the ochre walls.
And old storyteller whose voice you could hear in the crowd
And the tales we repeated under a starry night
What happened next?
Be patient child, you will know in time
No rush, wisdom is carried in a breeze
It will come to you, when it’s due
But does it ever leave?