Pain, suffrage, determination.
Many feeling go through the mind of a man
Who lost his way.

Trudging through the soft gritty sand,
He covers the hardened skin of his tanned face
With the back of his vascular forearm,
From the soft thrashing of the wind.

His pumping lungs seize
As floating dust enters his open mouth.
Seeing a place of sanctuary,
Hope strangled Dante’s panic as he lifts
His white, dirt-stained turban from his
Scruffy bald head, and wraps it around
His aged face.

The smell of dirt wafts through Dante’s upturned nose.
Flashbacks of his family swarmed through his mind,
Remembering his little girl,
Ava,
Rolling down the dunes then arriving back home
With tattered, dirt-filled hair.

The need to return home greatly intensified.

Digging his feet into the soft ground,
He headed towards a towering sand dune.
Suddenly, a swirling gust of sharp wind sweeps under his
Suffering burned feet,
Causing him to land on all fours.

Determination pangs at his side as Dante
Slowly emerges back onto two wobbly feet.
Covering his face with his young wrinkled hand
He slowly trudges forward
Once again.

The feeling of gentle needles pierces
His body, as he leaps behind
A weak sand shield.
A sigh of relief escapes his wheezing lungs
From the fate he diverted.

Dante found his way.