I write a tale of a city,
Of a thousand pillars,
Sitting atop a mound,
Somewhere in sandy dunes
Behind the garb see,
The dust laden gully
The dirty fakir leads,
An old path well trodden
You call it dust,
I call it gold
In the valley of Marrakesh,
Deep within those ravines
Lies the city lost,
To time.
Utterances matter,
Few know the truth
Guilty treasures of rich,
Hidden beneath the layers
Gathering dust,
The storm of silence
Lives on in the moment,
Of truth.
Subject: A journey to an ancient city somewhere in the deserts
Note: Images are free to use and modify they hold creative commons license.
Good day
