Across the broken boulevards of forgotten promises,
A figure stands-
An incomprehensible shadow of no one.
The shadow recedes like the horizon-
But its presence much more honest.
The figure beckons for the traveler at the end of a dark tunnel-
A mirage though it may be, it cannot be a lie.
Empty promises never were so life-like;
Flying dreams were.
"Should I go? I must live but leave not..."
The end of the tunnel comes closer-
The figure grows in size-
A soft breeze upon the forehead makes him breathe.
The figure is lost- his life regained- the seventh heaven.
The traveler never was, the figure will forever be:
For hope was it that led us so far,
And hope will it be that will lead us farthest.
The journey is yet to begin--
Into those unknown wonderlands
Which poets have written a world about, but
None had ever seen.