desert

“where are we?”
he asks with trepidation
hesitation, suffocation.
“when will we reach?”
you see, u ask when,
when you don’t know where.
then again, its always/only
a matter of time.
“where are we going?”
too late, too soon, too much.
too cruel.
sands between the fingers,
grains among the feet.
an oasis, or a mirage;
your hell to keep.
silenced by the very air
that bids you speak,
to look all around
finding audience; unbound.
yet a mirage cannot listen,
just as much an oasis
brings no salvation,
only temptation.

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