Unmoored

Self-Illustrated

Here I am, a parched wanderer, deep in the bowels of the desert,

Hot and unforgiving it burns my skin, though cold and callous it feels,

Luring me into his belly, taunting, promising life like a shameless flirt,

My steps feel heavy as I succumb, my spirit he smites and steals.

Here I am, hurling obscenities into the wind, demanding my light, my reward, my oasis,

All my travails have been but in vain, as every promise imploded into a mirage,

I lament the covenant I have entered with this beast, as unforgiving as he is rapacious,

I replenish myself in these fictitious springs, summoning every ounce of hope I can forage.

Here I am, a madwoman, trapped in a Kafkaesque nightmare,

Accompanied by no one but the kind of acolytes of the cruel desert — the sand dunes,

Kinetic but mute, sympathetic but powerless, their beatific canticles ensnare,

My steps become sprightly and hopeful, following their ethereal tunes.

Here I am, striding with purpose, as my legs quake and the desert, in shock, cowers,

The dunes and the ground observe a pregnant pause at the dethroning of the tyrant,

The world is stunned to stillness as it witnesses this unexpected shift in powers,

The loose ground beneath me is made firm by my resolve, as the desert grows silent.

Here I am, crying at the sight of water and hope and joy and victory,

I have felled the monster that devoured me, severed all the ugly heads it reared,

I have vanquished my nescience and the tribulations of the desert allegory,

I have conquered the vast emptiness that engulfed me, the very thing I feared.

By Abhi Shankar.