For P

Some day she’ll miss the purple evening sky
(It really does go purple over here)
She’ll miss the dusty palms and school parades,
The freezing malls and heat of wilted shade,
The sand-filled swirling wind that bites her skin,
And walking through the dust that chaps her feet,
Even that sweaty, fat, Arabic guy
Whom she insulted once while driving by (and I know why!)
The locals swarming to the park at dusk,
Being ‘Madame…’, the true beauty of rain,
The parked car become furnace in the sun
Unless you leave the air conditioning on,
And, of course, her desperate-housewife friend
Who’s heartbroken to see her sojourn end.


Written for my friend, who is leaving Bahrain soon.


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