Mosi-oa-tunya

the smoke that thunders

is all that stands between.

I see you son of seer

who hunts ever gold

 

I fear not any collars

of which you once spoke

unto me

so very, resentfully

 

leave trace in my den

and Seitch Jacurutu

will hear matters

of the desert

 

in my Honour as fremen

will I give freely

unto you,

both chapter and verse

 

no need of artifice

when simplicity might

yet work

its easy magic

 

may Shai-Halud

cleanse the paths.

It falls on me to give,

oh, most cautious one

 

you must provide

secure means

and then the Mentat downloads

Insh’ Allah

 

ever the shadows

is instinct of old

ever the light

I am much more, bold

 

the morning star

and the setting sun

must soon

full circle come

 

foe am I not

ne’er have I been

fate has its quirks

sure, as can be seen

 

the smoke that thunders

is all that stands between.

I see you son of seer

who hunts ever gold

Jacarutu

If one spends a decent chunk of childhood in the desert or semi-desert it leaves a mark on you. I am perhaps still part desert creature. Maybe this was a cause of my fascination with Dune.

 

no sound but the wind in the desert

sifting, shifting, sand

haze

mirage

shimmer

 

the crescent dunes are wandering

moving, meandering, mine

dry

whitened

bones

 

twister turns upwards to the sun

thermal, timing, turning

arid

lifting

up

 

scentless sounds carry the call

curving, coiling, calm

hint

distant

far

 

Jacurutu, a whisper and a memory

saffron, sesame, spice

time

ago

long

 

down the passage of passing

lost, losing, left

back

behind

hidden

 

only the blind can see in the desert

sifting, shifting, sand

haze

mirage

shimmer

 

futures held in the balance, sway

bending, blending, born

now

dying

dry

 

labyrinth lathes carve the cliffs

searing, seeming, shown

paths

dwindle

off

 

in Jacurutu the secret is safe

saffron, sesame, spice

time

ago

long

 

but never forgotten.