Going Home | Bookosmia

A staggered man fresh out of breath,

With quivering legs and lassitude,

Stares at the ethereal stars,

Calling out for help, parched and weary.

He looks at the barren journey ahead,

Myriad dunes of sand beaming,

The clouds were singing a lullaby,

He felt serendipity in his loneliness.

And suddenly he hears his name,

A rather shrill susurration by the wind,

And about a foot away he finds,

A dwindling oasis radiant under the moon.

An essence of hope and felicity,

He gulps down a couple of sips,

And yet he feels more parched than ever,

He jumps inside to catch a swim.

Transported to a garden filled with lilies,

Engulfed by joy and quiescent,

He knew he had reached home,

While the machine made a flatlined sound.