The desert and the oasis

In the distance,
She can hear
The sound of the hoofs.
The dust clouds billow
She can no longer see.
The sky turns grey
As the dust spirals upwards.

“I think I saw
A man with a silver sword
Riding a white stallion” —
She tells the old lady.

“Isn’t the sound of the hoofs
And the dust in the air
So attractive?” she smiles.
“The oasis is shrinking
The wells are turning dry —
Did you even hear your baby cry?
The tears on her cheek
Have so long run dry.”

“And as for men on white stallions,
When the dust rises
You see them everywhere.
This is a desert, my girl
And mirages are not rare.”

Anshu, 27 February 2019