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Description

Across the arid desert's breath, Where silence speaks in tongues of death, A scene unfolds beneath the sun, Of men in flight, a race begun.
A Jinn, colossal, fierce, and wild, Chases them, the sands compiled, In waves of heat, it rears, it roars, As fleet-foot men do tempt their fates and soars.
Its shadow looms like night's own veil, A haunting, vast, forbidding tale, Its whispers wind, its eyes aglow, Pursuing those who dare the wasteland's woe.
The men, with hearts of pounding drums, Race on 'neath the scorching sun that hums, Their footprints script a desperate plea, In golden grains of vast eternity.
Oh, ancient Jinn of legend's keep, Awakened from the deep, deep sleep, In pursuit of souls, your legend's creed, A tapestry of myth in every deed.
The desert's breath does scarcely stir, As if it mourns the things that were, For in the chase 'twixt man and beast, Lies a tale of old, the very least.
So in this vast, unending sand, The Jinn's grasp stretches out its hand, To claim what runs from stories spun, A painting's tale, 'neath the cruel sun.

Description

Across the arid desert's breath, Where silence speaks in tongues of death, A scene unfolds beneath the sun, Of men in flight, a race begun.
A Jinn, colossal, fierce, and wild, Chases them, the sands compiled, In waves of heat, it rears, it roars, As fleet-foot men do tempt their fates and soars.
Its shadow looms like night's own veil, A haunting, vast, forbidding tale, Its whispers wind, its eyes aglow, Pursuing those who dare the wasteland's woe.
The men, with hearts of pounding drums, Race on 'neath the scorching sun that hums, Their footprints script a desperate plea, In golden grains of vast eternity.
Oh, ancient Jinn of legend's keep, Awakened from the deep, deep sleep, In pursuit of souls, your legend's creed, A tapestry of myth in every deed.
The desert's breath does scarcely stir, As if it mourns the things that were, For in the chase 'twixt man and beast, Lies a tale of old, the very least.
So in this vast, unending sand, The Jinn's grasp stretches out its hand, To claim what runs from stories spun, A painting's tale, 'neath the cruel sun.