The Hollow Dunes by Carin Marais


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The old ones have left, she said,
her eyes on the hollow dunes.
Their ships and gold they’ve taken.
With fire brands and wild calls
they’ve left.
She placed her hands upon the grassy dunes.
But the drums still speak,
the drums still call to me.
Away from the ocean.
Away from the sea.
The old ones have left, she said,
her eyes on the hollow dunes.
Perhaps they’ll remember me.
Perhaps they’ll open the dunes –
now that I’ve burnt my boat.
The old ones are calling, she said.
The old ones are calling, she sobbed.
I’ll wait for them by the hollow dunes.