This is not one of my usual blogs. This will be meaningless and you are not going to see any point. Neither would I. This won’t be funny. This is a tale which isn’t complete. The intention of this post is yet to be established. Or there is no intention behind it really. Nothing to prove. Nothing to teach. And nothing to rant. This is just a write-up without the boundary of proving a point, without the shackles of making sense and without the limits of telling a story.
Although this is just a piece of writing it does have a character. The character is a legendary warrior. He was the warrior in an endless desert. Was he in exile or was he leading his army was unknown. None of his men were in sight. Did he have a name? Yes. His name had to be Sultan.
Dressed in all white with a white keffiyeh covering the head, he was looking at the sunset. Desert sunsets are beautiful. He would often look at sunsets as if he was searching for something. His search would probably never end. For he had been traveling the desert all his life. He wasn’t old but he wasn’t young either. Did he have a family? Probably not.
The horse was resting a few steps away. As the sun blending into its last shade of orange he looked at the pile of burning wood which offered light and warmth. He had a sword. The sword had a history. A history that he wasn’t too proud of. He usually kept his face covered but not that day. His beard, not long, just about perfect, had its own fair share of grays. His eyes, intense and deep, were very trustworthy. He was a warrior and a warrior had to be trustworthy.
By now, the sun had drowned in the abyss of sand. The sun was tired of burning all day. But the warrior must not rest. Thousands of thoughts struggled for space in his mind but his heart was calm. His heart was at peace. He looked at the horse and started walking. The horse followed. And the journey continued. Sultan disappeared in the darkness of the infinite desert…