Captive in a sandstorm

Feeling dry, hot winds,

as if, walking on the pyre,

with nothing but silence,

is what I encountered...

A tempest of grains,

like facing desert’s ire,

no horizon at sight,

rather these endless dunes. 

It's an unending journey,

every step feels so heavy,

as gritty winds assail me,

grazing through soft skin.

My lips dry and crack,

and throat, getting parched,

even the water I carried,

have reached to final drops. 

There's no escape,

facing these ordeals,

with a fading hope,

arrives endless fear.

What am I, if not a prisoner,

held captive, in a sandstorm,

yearning for the refuge, an oasis,

yet finding nothing but barren fields...