She travelled across the sands,
In a dusty yellow mustang,
With a man who wore checkered linens,
And sipped cognac at sharp turns.
The dark skies showered moisture,
To abandon the warmth,
The smoke of his red marlboro,
Touched her staunch stance.
He stopped the car,
To mingle with the mirage,
While she still dreamt of ajrak grids,
To block print the tiles of their house,
Which they had built in their dreams,
With their own hands.