Spring in Sahara

No reflections here
though the sun bares itself
upon the vast mirror of sand

Inspiration must be dug
from an endless depth of optimism
in this place where rain is rare

As perspiration propels itself
like a self-destructive fountain,
scarce water lands on the
borderless canvas of sand—
where do we begin from?

dry sandy storm is against the artist,
they cannot write, paint nor mold,
nothing will flourish.

If they can wait
for spring
here, how
fulfilled they will be