A good female camel - Saud Al-Sanousi

The sun cooks our heads. And no water near me and sweat does not quench thirst. I have nothing for myself or the small except patience on the whips of the sun, and milk from a udder we crowded with the dialogue, and a prophecy that a cloud brought me good news of which it does not return. Will Kuwait be a cloud that heralds what does not come? Or a mirage that endless distance does not tire? Or a star that guides us to all roads except the road that leads to it? It seems I am dying. I realize it is a death on the back of my camel, at the moment when the present enters with her son meeting Sari, and my son meets whom? Cover type: Cardboard reinforced size: 19×12