Nizwa, Oman
December 2007
The faint trail of luban
scented the sand-cold night.
Lampposts flickered in Morse code
till dust proved gems
between unhurried steps.
Two exiled nomads
searched for home
past midnight, through a town –
almost Bethlehem.
Meeting, almost meeting
at the lantern’s sacred circle
that humbled crowned pride,
exalted hay-fragrant faith,
where star beacons heralded
with the promise, no, the certainty
of hearts aflame
and angel-streamed Light.
Palm fronds rustle whispers
under a thin crescent moon.
The furrowed falaj stream trickles
giddily around the baked-mud stables
sheltering manure-hoofed goats and donkeys
that have never heard of Bethlehem,
yet twitching, bleating, braying carols
at these two strange pilgrims
passing by.
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