Writers 
A MIRAGE
Across the wasteland of my visions,
I glimpsed a river shimmering and pure,
It twirled beneath the radiant sun,
And softly murmured, “Hope is close. ”
I moved toward it, weary and frail,
With parched lips and aching soles,
As I neared the water,
The flow seemed to retreat further away.
Was it genuine, or merely a beam?
A scene created by the heat?
I reached out to feel the surf,
But encountered only the dry sand below.
A mirage can resemble what we desire,
A gleam illuminating the atmosphere,
It offers the heart a reason to dream,
Then vanishes without a trace.
At times, life resembles a mirage,
Presenting aspirations that feel so close,
An ideal home, an improved existence,
A tomorrow without any dread.
But not all radiant things are true gold,
And not every vision will persevere.
We must learn to look beyond the surface
And choose reality along the path.
So when a mirage emerges in my path,
I will resist its misleading ways.
I will continue my journey through the desert,
With faith and strength, steadfast and bold.
For when the trail is barren,
And hope appears far from view,
I will believe in the journey, not the facade—
And discover the truth beyond horizons anew.
