As the rain pours its fury
In a city, asleep in its clamor
As thoughts begin to wave
As the colour begins to fade
Stands there, an old nomad
With words made of clay,
Washed away, in stones
To keep them alive
As the desert begins to dance

An old signboard in its neon lights
Carries it no meaning, these words
Come here they all,
With visions and of dreams
Write as much as you can
Asleep its inhabitants to no avail
As the rain pours its fury
Stands there the old Nomad
Hidden in words made of clay
To keep them alive,
In its tune and in its heat

Stands there, an old nomad,
Not a soul, not a voice
As the rain pours its fury
In its madness, the flow
Someday they will understand,
As he wraps up that fury,
Knows he only of its worth
Inside, for years, untouched
By the rain or the city,
Words made of clay
As the dance begins,
Of winds and thoughts
As the desert keeps it alive
The old nomad and his struggles!



7 thoughts on “THE OLD NOMAD


    Why that phrase? Every thought is important in its own right…clay can be washed away…words once uttered remain there in spirit!

  2. We humans are all made up of clay and hence I used this expression, but in principle I agree….clay can be washed away but words remain in spirit..
    But in this context of the poem, the character in the rain, the old nomad, laments that in order to protect his spirit and his words of clay(his physical existence) from the pressures of the outside world….those pressures can be personal, political, regional, social and all the rest and how he still wants to save in any form or shape the vision and his very own physical existence…The rain is simply used as forces opposing that existence..existence which has its origin in words and clay….those forces are internal within ourselves and external, both physical and intangible

  3. Thanks Aadil and Ayesha for your kind comments and ofcourse to Nadeen that goes without saying.

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