From over the dunes does He come,
A slow lurching forward through all that’s unsung.
He comes, with a lion’s mane yet flattened teeth.
He spares the child and shatters the rod,
Cloaked in the Sun with a smile the shape of a crescent moon pressed in front of his tongue.
He is shrouded by the desert’s patience and graced with the sea’s persistence.
He exists on the breath of the foreigners,
He is the words spoken from the mouths of the voyagers.
And by what name He comes is found in the multitudes that by Him swear,
The name He bears is by the name that you care.
He is the sailing stone unbothered by his desert home,
He is the heat of the forge,
He is the light of this life,
He is the hope we afford,
He is the one that they adore.
Though their heads may be bloodied,
He is how they are beaten yet unbowed.
For Him I must ask,
Can You hear me now?