I have a desert
I have some desert bushes
And during the storm
My Sun hides in these bushes
Those who have their own desert
They don't run after mirages
They weave beautiful dreams from each and every grain of sand
Cactus grows in my desert
Silence hums And mostly
My Sun's feet get injured
Sometimes birds from far away
Come and settle
In my desert bushes
Many of those birds have become migrants
Lost in flying very high
How did beautiful birds start living
In a desert...
It is a different matter
That which flies from the refugee camp
In the solitude of the night
Wings of dreams Even today
A dark bird comes
To my desert bushes
As soon as she comes
Greenery comes desert flowers bloom
For some time
The darkness of life goes away from the corner of my eyes
And the smiling sun spreads
My sun starts jumping with joy
From these bushes of memories
I build a house
When do homes settle in desert life
Only the sobbing ruins of dreams are built
From those very ruins sprout
Sprout of metaphor, simile and symbol
And the colorful buds of letters, words, sentences
With which I carve
A beautiful form of sandy reality
The consciousness of struggle, a sandy poem
For my dark bird
Living in the refugee camp
And for the flower-thoughts born in all those flowers
Who suffer in exile the heat of each glowing grain of sand is like the falling leaves of a poplar in autumn
Thank you so much for reading. Have a great day 😊 🙏 @vikbuddy