The Dust Of The Planet Poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
The Dust Of The Planet
I didn’t time birth;
I couldn’t time my death.
So not in hand is my growth.
Am I not a puppet,
The dust of the planet?
30.07.2007
Saturday, January 10, 2009
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5/6/2024 8:14:47 AM # 1.0.0.1119
He sees me similarly, like i see the baby in my lap, we cry for food...he grows forests, we cry for water he pours rains, directs rivers, we cry in darkness he sends the sun.....he takes care of us like his child! I see him as a father....puppeteer? ? ? ?