Upon the dunes of cosmic thought we tread,
Sprinkled by starlight, where spirits have bled.
The Celestial Camel, with humps of divine lore,
Carries truths we’ve twisted, forevermore.
“Love all and everyone!” it bellows bright,
Yet kingdoms rise to maim in holy fight.
Scriptures penned in fervor, inked by fear,
Forget the dust from which we all appear.
The Camel’s hooves press lightly on the sand,
Yet mortals squabble, blade in hand.
Gilded halls preach mercy, heaven’s grace,
While beggars starve outside the sacred place.
For stars know no creeds, no temple walls,
Nor care for prophets, pulpits, or prayer calls.
The dust we share, scattered wide and far,
Mocks the lines and borders we’ve etched in tar.
Yet men chant the Camel’s name, so loud,
Prayers rise, entwined with incense clouds.
Each sect claims its stake: “Ours is the way!”
But the stars blink on, indifferent, every day.
Down from Orion’s belt, it smirks in jest,
The holy beast knows we’ve failed its test.
For love requires no idol, no chant, no book,
Just a glance at the dust upon which we look.
So heed this wisdom, beneath vast heaven’s dome:
We are all nomads, with no true home.
The Camel calls, though its voice seems slight,
To love unfettered, in the endless night.
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