The dust grows on the windowsill

Gradually the dust grows on the windowsill

Looking at people going by in the street as it lays still

Hurried steps to no where

You may ask why so but then why they dwell the same path every day

Only to return again the same day or perhaps the day next

Their faces showing myriad emotions

Some worried, some doubtful, some so determined, happy or sad

Albeit bound by a common theme of restlessness

Whereas the dust keeps settling down

So calm and restful, no hurry, no qualms

Cohesively keeping all parts together in one whole

As someone deep in meditation unaware and inhibited of what the future holds

The man feeling restless even inside the room wants to open the window

Not even thinking for a moment how it will unsettle the dust

The window opens and in comes a gush of wind

The dust goes disarray, all particles separated from the whole

Still unperturbed, the dust grows on the windowsill

Calm, collected both inside and out

Looking at people going by in the street as it lays still

Hurried steps to nowhere…


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