Glistening blazing dust, rocks on rocks, yellow golden skies of sand paved down the way.

Layers of red, indigo, light pinks and burgundy shaded beds of stones stood up in rays,

Petra’s columns, sculpted through time and age, stood beyond us

Standing still under the sun’s beaming light, under their looming shadows we trusted

The Roman city’s sight to blind us,

for the Pink city had wonders it had yet to show us

Eight hundred steps, under millions of footsteps, did we clamber over

Visitors, by thousands, crept over the timeless ruins, their gaze mapping out where once stood ancient civilizations – Arabic nomads, Romans and Christians,

From the shallows of the Dead Sea, to the Gulf of Aquaba, lodged on the slope of Jabal Al Madbah, whispers of Nabateans merchants could be carefully deciphered,

The wind brought with it muffled sounds, brushed oriental smells of spices from the Indies, Egypt and Syria, silk from distant trading routes, long breathless creamy colored deserts, silent roads and unknown distant far away lands and territories

Between warm sunset colored canyons,

If one closed his eyes tight, one could discern, from

Decades ago, the general bliss, the palpable excitement and clamour of the city still present

the constant rocketty and coarse clip clap of donkey’s feet against the rocks, the merchants’ alluring loud cries, the camels’ backs loaded with heavy bags of various wares, the different languages and dialects spread around this crossroads of merchandise, hung high into the air.


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