Midday
By Ak Welsapar
Midday, just look around:
the heat raises the sand to a boil.
Life is nothing more than a myth
when summer comes to this land.
A camel on the ground, groaning,
doesn’t help against the heat.
What does it ask and to whom,
its neck bent into a question mark?
The day at its peak. The sun blind.
Mirages draw me in only to disappoint.
In Asia, a tornado is born
and wails past me on its way to Africa.
The forest of desert trees lies quiet;
strives to survive.
On a branch, a small body jumps around,
a sparrow burned black by the sun.
The ground is cracked and jagged;
the desert air melts away.
The wonderful music of the heat
is brief, and piercing.
I bear a worry in my heart
not everyone bears.
My homeland follows me everywhere.
I love my people. I can’t help it.
