Millions and millions are grains of sand,
Millions spread over a desert land.
Now and then they take a flight,
Each time resting on a different site.
Sometimes they are so unsettlingly still,
Like an unthinking, unmoving, sandy hill.
And sometimes an unstoppable sandstorm,
A bedlam, a flurry, as swishes take form.
And these grains of sand are my thoughts,
Each motion followed by upshots.
And my mind a timeless desert,
With grains of thoughts both genial and curt.
My soul a traveler in this desert of bliss,
A complete desert with just one thing amiss.
Amiss is an oasis to quench my curiosity,
But it’s very absence is the survival of this desert city.