Guillermo Veloso

(September 25 1962 / New York City)

Berbers


Reaching over dunes in the sandstorm that is our lives
We pitch our tents apart, lit by a desert sun that burns the sky
I sleep alone, far from the disdain of cold skin
Once we knew each other, like a brief desert shower
But in the swirling sirocco stained with red Saharan dust,
We were lost
Now we are Berbers, nomads of love
And home is never in sight

Submitted: Thursday, March 28, 2013
Edited: Thursday, January 30, 2014

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