Dust

Everything is dirty,
No matter you keep,
Wiping with mop,
Or wash it away with water.

It keeps coming back,
Mumbling grudging,
Haunting the house,
With its all-swarming presence.

The books on the shelf,
Are all dusty again,
Like a ritual every day,
They are dusted off.

Then how from where does,
It sneaks away like the pack,
Of red Ants devouring the food,
Entering from the smallest opening.

The lobby is covered with it,
Let’s take the dusty broom,
To sweep it away,
This blackened ash like dust.

From where it’s coming,
What’s burning?
Who is minting this dust?
It is all over the place.

Some say it comes from,
The cremation ground,
So many desires getting burnt,
Their Ashes turning into dust.

Those unfulfilled desirous dust,
It’s all around the world,
How to sweep it away,
It comes every day.

Perhaps it has something,
To say about desires,
About dusty desires,
About fulfilled unfulfilled desires.

It keeps visiting without a miss,
It’s an everyday messenger,
Broom, mop and water,
All there to take the message.