Dust Poem by Ananya Guha

dust does not settle
it unsettles rovingly
it has movements
it wanders aimlessly
in houses, corners, books
and roads
the mind is dusty
when the rot sets in
the same questions, the same answers
the same love and hate, the same games
and the same same killings.
here in India it is the gatheing dust
over centuries, and history takes a new turn
hermetically sealed.

dust is soforific
dust is hermetic
dust gathers in oblivion
then strikes, impinges on ways of living, thinking
in this mad swirling we rotate with it till it sickens
with a thud around the corner.

dust is haughty religion
megalomania and a lassitude
kill them you morons in India
Syria, Iraq or Egypt.
dust has gathered over centuries in benighted countries
so wipe it off your feet, give it a dash of blood.

bloody dust!