I feel strangely oppressed
by the dust
sitting comfortably on
all things in my room
covering them in a hazy layer.
that insignificant, harmless looking
left behind by the speeding time,
reminds me of my own laziness.
As I try to routinely dust it off,
it flies up – tiny particles
filling the nostrils, choking,
eyes going red, smarting and teary.
Thankfully, for a moment,
it seems to obey,
only to come back, stealthily,
What if I don’t frequently displace it,
allowing it the freedom
to settle on its own, anywhere, everywhere?
It has, I’m afraid, vast potential
bury all it lays its dusty hands upon,
Harappa and Mohenjodaro bear