Zaldiban, R.I.P. March 2010

Zaldiban 8

Against the wind the spirited steed races, being
born of deserts and royalty, chasing
climate of sand, heat and dunes
dancing with each other, creating new partners with every
Egyptian swirl. Bedouin follow near and far,
fostering four-legged family inside tents, generously
granting free rein as tail lifts and hooves
hammer sand beneath legs. Inaudible,
incapable of sound, movement whispers, jetting
jewels as red nostrils flare, black eyes glisten and noble neck knights
kings and princes. Cherished and loved,
long-standing tradition reveres Arabian horses. Outside the desert, mostly
misunderstood, the hot-blooded breed named
narcissist, neurotic and often
openly ridiculed for flighty behaviour, perfectly
prancing rearing bolting leaping sideways, quickly
quiet, stealth with subversive movement surprises rider:
ripped from back, falling to ground, muscles sore,
sorry not to have paid more attention. Totally,
terribly oblivious to human difficulty, unaltered,
unfazed by peasant beings, victorious
vagabond confined to stables, pastures and round pen waits,
wondering the whereabouts of Bedouin and sand.

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