March On—relentless, Through The Furnace Wind Poem by Mohammad Younus

March on—relentless, through the furnace wind,
each footprint a vow etched in the sand's frail memory.
The horizon bends, a mirage's sly grin,
but your compass is the pulse within your hand.

No tomb for doubt here, where the sky bleeds dust,
where the 'Hudhud's' cry unravels time.
Your breath carves hymns from the ribs of the air,
a liturgy of grit, teeth clenched against the storm.

The dunes are liars, their peaks never final—
they shift like the promises of lesser gods.
Drink the ache in your calves as sacred wine,
let blisters bloom into constellations.

They say the oasis cradles a moonlit psalm,
where roots drink deep from the earth's hidden veins.
But turn not toward its lullaby yet—
the map to your becoming is written in thirst.

When night stitches the desert with needles of frost,
remember: stars are the scars of light that refused to die.
March on. The dawn will wear your name,
and the sand, someday, will kneel.

MyKoul