Dust Storms

Take my hand dear one, This part of the trip will be tricky. The trail’s a little steep, The soil’s a little loose. Big large rocks you hold for support, Might as easily slip away with you. See the sun paint the sky, The colour of apocalypse. And winds so strong make it impossible to miss, The uncanny sound of an approaching dust storm. To fear or to fight, We must quickly decide. As the dark begins to creep up from behind, I can feel my skin coating with adrenaline. Even if your knees get weak, And your lungs give in We must keep close, We must keep moving. The storm shall pass in a minute or few, And we’ll then gaze at the world, From 2000 meters altitude.