On the dunes of this Kuwaiti desert
Parched by years of greed and conflict
The north-easterlies weave patterns learnt
Perhaps an incarnation or two ago
Over the exquisite rock gardens of Kyoto.
Amidst the debris of invasion and occupation
The chiaroscuro of browns and burnt oil sludge
Weave a carpet of Rohrsach blots on the sand
Inviting us to project onto the undulations
The anthers and petals of pain and maybe hope
Hidden in the dark recesses of our minds.
Like the parched winds shifting the sand
Looking for a tinge of moisture
We sift through the debris of our lives
And find nothing but flotsam and jetsam
In the garden of sand in our minds
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