Wandering on the sands ashore
Gathering shells of the yore
I wondered who was there before
And what imprints the sand underneath bore

The setting sun in the background
And mounting noises around
All mark the arrival of the dusk
Beginning their daily task.

Flying kites and Corn sellers
Camel riders and Fortune tellers
All in a game of survival and joy
With their many a strategic ploy

Survival and joy just balance each other
One giving the right place to the other
Like the waves trying to wash the shore away
But are drawn back farther away

Here there is joy in survival
And each day alive is another carnival
The dusk, to their lives is a bright dawn
It is their only source to live on.