The old man of Arabia [Archives:2006/959/Community]

Abdul Nasser Al-Abdali
A slow journey through the land of Sheba.

Reveals a land of sand, dust and stone

Harsh lines are etched into the old main's face

A precious stone rough cut from the rock

Hard as Granite, a smile soft as Pumice

Heavy rain falls in the grey mountains

And briefly pours down the wadis

Like tears flooding from his eyes.

Now Yemen is a whole.

From the wet heat of A den

To the cool breeze of a Sana'a evening

The old man of Arabia.

Sits comfortably in the prophet's clothes.

In the mountain s or the desert.

A viscous mix of tribes and blood .

Strong alliance and uncomfortable neigbours

These make him out fierce and independent

Sometimes lazy but always proud,

Tied to traditions rooted in the land

One leg in the hills, the other deep in sand .

Now the old man of Yemen lifts his gaze,

Taking a small sip from the cup of democracy.

Sometimes the wine reveals a taste of corruption

Lifting the veil of nepotism and greed.

A taste of democracy none the less.

Will the old man now drink his fill

Or throw the cup a side

And slip back through the mists of time

To a land of sand, dust and stone.
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