Wednesday, June 22, 2016


As I walk across the arid sandy dunes
Hungry, thirsty and weary,
Steps away, Just a quarter furlong away.
I sight the island, with flowing streams and lush greens,
Eager to soak in the cold flow 
of the stream and recline in the tranquil green grass, 
I go a step ahead, but stall.
I fear the island is a mirage
If I step too close, it might vanish.
I stay back, thirsty, not to lose sight of it.

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