Oud Abramad

At dawn, the doors close. The light coloured marble has kept the intoxicating heat of the day. It seems as if the lush garden is soothing, and the trees open their arms. The desert’s night creeps under the arcades and the garden seems circled by alcoves. Someone silently crosses the darkness. You can hear the subtle sound of fabric draping like a cloak over the discreet sound of the leather’s patina. The silhouette slow and haughty floats through the silenced garden. Maybe it’s Abramad... heavy door opens and a glimmer of light filters through. A proud shadow covers the stone in the trail of the golden light. She disappears. Lift your heard towards the seven windows of the palace opened like big black eyes. In the hushed obscurity, someone stands facing the desert.