The dust settles on the chiseled ornaments,
It carpets the exotic plants; like a veil of vile and grim possibilities.
The dust envelopes around the insidious nooks boasting of promise
The dust settles here and there every day, refusing to budge.
In the glory of the morning sun,
One ghost of the future comes to sweep the dust;
With a broom in his hand; his unrelenting spirit sweeps away the dust every day
And every night
Till the ornaments, plants and the nooks’ inconspicuous shadow begins to stalk his dreams again
He says even the morning sun assists him in this papal task.
It is the evenings when the sun begins to bid farewell, trouble ensues,
For the ball of fire loves to play hide and seek with the whimsical clouds.
And the dust particles are harder to reach
But he manages to sweep nonetheless.
The sultry night sky beguiles his attention
The moon lit horizon bamboozling his intentions
The notorious moon is cajoling his young heart- persuading him to dance away the night
The dust can no longer be seen, the moon reasons,
But it is there, it is still everywhere.
And the young man with the greying beard picks up his broom again
And sweeps away
He sweeps till the golden orb of sunlight returns to glimmer
And the dust particles are visible but few
And in that knowledge the man smiles
Because in that knowledge lies independence