tuaregs in the gare de lyon

noble desertmen so far removed from their seas of sand,
are, in an instant of transport triumph, deposited into a sea of men
[of such profound dissimilarity]
as in that great disgorging hall of the gare de lyon.

tombouctou - destination - paris

their dark skin still swathed in miles of white cotton,
they push their few soft bundles in high design metalcarts
through indiscriminate pastelpeople
and flashing digital technology.

why this need to leave their saharan vastness and determinacy
for the mediocre madness of western modernicity...

perhaps a onetime shortcircuiting of their ingrained route,
with a wide detour north to the cold tangential eurofall -
they are nomads, after all...

in a jetstream fashion, are we not all nomadically inclined
to follow our own oasis calling,
to find refuge in some distant refulgence,
now and then even meeting tuaregs midway through
our concentricity
as in the humming embrace of the elemental gare de lyon.

'tuaregs in the gare de lyon' by g. verster