Hived there - in a sere moonscape,

Stands aloof, a two-horned gazelle,

Hare alike- digging deep in the sand,

I wonder if it was on a quest,

If not feasting on a guest( grass).

Sand, grains of sand is all there is,

Jilted like a perfect photographic frame.

Might there be some ancient pawprints,

Was it ever a false destiny?

Maybe a solace?

Or what if, it's in pure oblivion?

The inky black horns,

Curled upon - an emblem of mystery,

The young eyes, the forlorn figure - a splendid silhouette in the realms of time!

As he straddles, on the path, less travelled by,

I query, "if it's of concern- he is alone?"

Maybe it dwells on this isolated idea,

Or.... it's waiting for a tryst with "hope"

Now I question, " what is a desert?"

The poor creature's heart, or the land below the sky.

Is this his paradise,

Or does he hear the death bell?

With no fear in his eyes, and innocence on his face, how earnest he glides,

But, here I am mulling over,

With a satchel of quizzing doubts,

For which , I still haven't found an answer.

Can a dream manifest in him?

Was his escape a toil or even worse a failure?

But only , if he has a soul !

Does he?

Why am I even asking?

But, let me check, who am I?

And to this, I have an answer

A Gazelle , a mere gazelle in the walk of life.