The sandy hills on the path,
did little to deter her journey.
She strode with the will of an Arab
swordsman as the winds blew wildly.
A veil on her face to obscure the marks,
the desert would leave on them.
Through slit openings, she gazed down the path
never doubting if it was worth it.
Wear on her soles, tear on her cloth,
my girl kept on stamping.
Defying the laws of the red evening rays,
she prayed to be protected from them-
The jinn who arose at the set of the sun,
even they little weakened her motive.
And centuries passed, while Bedouins wondered
About the traveler who refused shelter.
Neither water nor food, nor change of shoes-
Always, she declined an offer.
The end of her journey, unknown to them
Nonetheless, they prayed for her.
Any soul braving their harsh barren land
Was one, in need of prayers.
Now tales are told, of a lone traveller-
Who journeyed amidst harsh weather.