Sandstorm

By Nikhil Singh

Sand oozes through my fingers like the passing time,

A lot is left, but a lot has gone,

The wind roars, intensifying the sandstorm in my mind,

In this dark, dead, empty desert, I am on my own.

Should I walk on to the end of time,

On this endless desert,

Towards the grey horizon on dusty dunes?

Or should I learn to survive in the eye of the storm?

Live like this?

When I’ve lived enough, I'll be gone.

I can keep the sand from entering my eyes,

But it's in every part of me that I know,

The particles that etch my lifeless mind,

The dust that has filled my lungs and bones.

I won't survive for a long time,

To survive isn't what I want 

if the truth be told,

Cause it means walking incessantly 

through the ghosts of perpetual night,

To exist to trod through the storm alone.

My tired eyelids often shut, 

and my eyes shortly dream of love,

Of calm wind, sunshine, and clear blue stream,

And in the rushing water, I see my smile,

eye to eye, shining bright like gold.

But the fleeting moments of sweet delusion end

As the wind slaps me wide awake to the reality,

Says the days to dream are far gone,

I mutter as I close my eyes,

"Since my birth, the storm is all I've known.

I haven't seen good days or lovely nights,

Haven't felt the touch of motherly love,

Haven't lived among loved ones in a house,

And hands of a partner

Are the hands I'll never hold."

Suddenly, the wind whistles and reminds me

That there's no point

To complaint about your sorrows to the dusty hole,

Or the ghosts in the dark that loom behind,

All that is left is to walk on,

And stay in the eye of the storm so that it hurts less,

Till I make my mind and be gone

From the face of the planet and the world,

And sleep eternally under the moonlight,

Sleep for all the sleepless nights I've known.

By Nikhil Singh