Dust is a disillusioned historian.
Mistrustful of self discovery
dust roams from Rome to home.
A particle, minuscule, joins
a million more. With the
fanatical passion of a new
believer it storms cities,
citadels, forests and thrones.
Over tedious gale flights,
red dust from Rajasthan
holds Australia's horizon
hostage in an amber haze.
Dust travels with hulking
marauders galloping across
territories. The dust of
destruction. The lust for land.
Dust seldom settles. Even
when it does, flimsy like hair
falling off a burnt scalp,
it asks to be scattered.
Dust on a grave; an itinerant's
rest before passing on.
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