Life is a journey—
a lone figure
walking into the horizon,
sky dimming to gold
A journey without knowing
which turn leads forward,
which dissolves into dust.
The destination still distant
fog on the distance,
a promise that flickers
but never fades.
We kept moving,
owing taxes on the journey
paying them with sleepless nights,
with hope like currency spent in faith.
Running, moving, even crawling
hands scraping gravel,
feet bruised,
the heart still burning for the road.
Trying to catch
the final way
as if some narrow path holds
every answer locked behind
a shadowed gate
Don’t know, where to go –
worldwide
wordless like a desert with no compass.
How to get to the pined place
we keep moving anyway
something inside
says the sun will rise there.
Shehla Khan Kulachi is an academic based in Faisalabad, Pakistan. She writes poems in English, Punjabi and Urdu languages
