by Nikhita Dodla
They trudge on
unaware of the slowly cooling land around them.
of wind racing to push down the colossal folds of sand, only for another to scrunch up in the distance.
of the never-ending rolling waves of sand.
for the frigid white clouds guarding the Sun.
that the blinding rays of the Sun were being eaten alive by the sky.
at the wind swirling the sand into a dance.
at the dance growing stronger and swifter with each turn.
Unaffected by the beauty,
but disturbed by the power.
as unwavering purpose filled their minds.
as they face raw surges of pain again and again.
at the rage of the storm meant to deter them.
at the triumph over the failing storm.
at the will of their adamant beasts of labor to power through the demons calling their names, begging them to stop and rest for eternity.
they continue trudging on.