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
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem