Sand, wind, sun, silence, clay, dust.

And, suddenly, the buses.

Transport or shelter?

More like mobile oases.

​

 

The temple in the cabin:

the watchful gods.

The sun sneaks in and reaches

cinnamon and clove skins;

eyes of honey, of sea, of olive.

Veils and turbans, impossible colors.

​

 

Ephemeral family: passengers.

A smile, a gesture;

millenary glances, stony faces.

A bronze contact.

The gathering dissolves in the music,

and the desert, the aridity, is forgotten.

​

 

Some enter, others leave.

The brotherhood, changing, remains.

From village to village, on the desolate roads.

Long and short journeys;

each one arrives at his destination.

​

 

Time passes; the journey is over.

The only thing that remains

is the memory -and the photos-

of some routes and some characters,

passengers.