Drunk dust desert dreams
Call
To the cracked-hearted,
Coaxing them with concussions created for the confined conscious minds,
Blind believers churn into levers
trauma-heavy turning deceiver into leaders.
Refusing realisation,
That stoic stillness , is still stillness,
A stagnant state mistaken for strength.
by half-heard hymns of “you can achieve your dreams,”
as if destiny dialed their number
and didn’t hang up.
As if gratitude created from grit can gratify
The grief they carry.
After all that,
Your anchor still echoes of aching anthems associated with lullabies.
And still, beneath the desert dusk,
your shadow shivers
a lone silhouette pleading with the wind
for a softness the world
was never taught to give.
.
