The desert and the mind of the migrant

Share the same flat face of emptiness

Same burning inside and outside

A bit of a wind is enough

To accumulate as a sand hill

And to drain out

The distance of oasis is

The attractive catastrophe of the desert

The hope that pulls up indefinitely is

The rope in front of the migrant

The stone is still at the foundation

The earth is pulling it deeper again

When dreams and miseries are up in the wind

Sand hills build up in the mind

It grows and grows and becomes a sculpture

Adorns a gray charm

And looks like a beautiful cobra from far

Blowing back vehemently

The years dilute and dilute the life

Grind it in the mind and blend it with moments

Flying out of the cage, the mind too loses direction

As happened to the naked sand stones