This thing called Death is but a return
To the soil from whence we came,
The soft clay of this Earth, our components,
Formed into shapes, then given a name
The dust we see floating on sunbeams
Is the soul in disarray,
But when arranged in the proper order
Molds us into who we are today
How we cherish these bodies of clay,
Though we don't get to choose them;
Defective or whole, in sickness and health,
When Death calls, how we hate to lose them
Proud as the peacock we wear our flesh-
Fine particles of matter!
But too soon our bodies reveal the truth.....
Made to rot, the particles scatter
Our value diminishes to naught
When we realize this truth:
From dust we came, to dust we shall return.
(Though you may find my ramblings uncouth)
And those who shed tears at our graveside
Cry for their own destiny,
Knowing all too well they soon will become
A speck of dust in eternity
I was looking for some comfort through poetry this morning. Luckily, I came across this beautiful poem of yours in which you have seen death so at ease! It cheered me up. 'From dust we came, to dust we shall return' - exactly this line is there in our Holy Book, The Quran. Excellent poem,10/10.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A great piece, Lora. We shall all return from whence we came, the elements. Our value diminishes to naught............... Death is the ultimate leveller. a speck of dust in eternity....................As individuals we are so insignificant in the great scheme of time and distance. Very well written, Lora. A lesson in humility.