As I travelled
In a four wheel drive
Across the semi-desert
Of Western Tunisia
Accompanied by the driver
And a family of five
I heard a language
I did not know
Mixed with
A little of my own
Occasionally
From the children
It was then
That I discovered
They were
From Afghanistan
I talked of Rumi
The mystic poet
Of old Afghanistan
And as the jeep
Bumped across the sand
And down the deep hillocks
Of the hardened sand
The ancient
Civilisation
Of Persia
Opened its heart
And revealed its wisdom
Over two days
I learned of the
Poets of the City of Balkh
And the fountainhead
Of
The Conference
Of the Birds
And over two days
The splendid children
Of five nations
Dominated our coach
In play
Between themselves
With no reference
To their origins
In
Malaysia, Pakistan
Germany, Afghanistan
And the United Kingdom
Skilled networkers
Of eight and nine
Exchanging email addresses
Entertaining one another
And creating
A zone of civilization
Without
Anything more
Than a safety
Wall
Of adults
Sitting beside them
And then I knew
As the coach travelled onwards
Across the salt desert
And to the
Cave dwellings
Of the Berbers
Of Mahmata
That our world will not be destroyed
By the idiocies
Of ideology and violence
But will be
Redeemed
By the intelligent
Creative
Children of the nations
And in the final
Hours of the journey
I discussed
With my new friend
The refugee journalist
The politics
Of avaricious
Capital
And the civilized
Words of the
Respected poets of
Thirteenth century
Afghanistan
And wondered
When we will
All wake up
And make our world
Like the wold
Of the children
And I knew
That we will only do so
When we listen
To them
And then I was
Very glad
From my forthcoming work “From an Eye on the Crescent – Convene the Parliament of the Birds”
– Viewing the World through the lens of the Land of Tunisia
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johndwmacdonald 
#Poetry #Photojourney #Travel JOURNEY OF THE CHILDREN #Tunisia #Afghanistan #Rumi
Posted on May 3, 2015
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As I travelled
In a four wheel drive
Across the semi-desert
Of Western Tunisia
Accompanied by the driver
And a family of five
I heard a language
I did not know
Mixed with
A little of my own
Occasionally
From the children
It was then
That I discovered
They were
From Afghanistan
I talked of Rumi
The mystic poet
Of old Afghanistan
And as the jeep
Bumped across the sand
And down the deep hillocks
Of the hardened sand
The ancient
Civilisation
Of Persia
Opened its heart
And revealed its wisdom
Over two days
I learned of the
Poets of the City of Balkh
And the fountainhead
Of
The Conference
Of the Birds
And over two days
The splendid children
Of five nations
Dominated our coach
In play
Between themselves
With no reference
To their origins
In
Malaysia, Pakistan
Germany, Afghanistan
And the United Kingdom
Skilled networkers
Of eight and nine
Exchanging email addresses
Entertaining one another
And creating
A zone of civilization
Without
Anything more
Than a safety
Wall
Of adults
Sitting beside them
And then I knew
As the coach travelled onwards
Across the salt desert
And to the
Cave dwellings
Of the Berbers
Of Mahmata
That our world will not be destroyed
By the idiocies
Of ideology and violence
But will be
Redeemed
By the intelligent
Creative
Children of the nations
And in the final
Hours of the journey
I discussed
With my new friend
The refugee journalist
The politics
Of avaricious
Capital
And the civilized
Words of the
Respected poets of
Thirteenth century
Afghanistan
And wondered
When we will
All wake up
And make our world
Like the wold
Of the children
And I knew
That we will only do so
When we listen
To them
And then I was
Very glad
From my forthcoming work “From an Eye on the Crescent – Convene the Parliament of the Birds”
– Viewing the World through the lens of the Land of Tunisia
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