In the sands there was a singing,
A song of tortured wonder,
With a hunger that was stinging
In the land of little thunder.
The dunes they were infecund
Though tilled by unseen farmer;
Yet still the Quarter beckoned
“Come to me,” said biting charmer.
In Eden barely distant,
Jinn whispered lies so stirring:
“Take up the great resistance
It is death that you are spurring.”
First Man called Wisdom brother
As he gorged on fruit verboten,
But he tore the world asunder
With the pact that he had broken.
Onward grim ascendants!
To the land of little water
To a hunger that’s transcendent
And the savagery of slaughter.
There you’ll find your master
In the slither of the seif
When the moon is alabaster
And your will is but a waif.
The groaning sand fraternal
With an aching that is pressing,
Due death to which we’re servile
At the hand of man’s transgressing.
Sing the song of slakeless torment
At the blight of desert dawning
Sing the song as Adam wrote it:
Song of Eden Longing.