Dust Poem by Md. Ziaul Haque

Dust and its weird caprice,
Does reckless things,
Endeavours to own like Alexander,
Every possible place.

Like Hybris, arrogant it is so,
Determined as well,
Revisits elatedly even if brushed away,
Hating most the word, NO.

Napoleon does breathe in its core,
Overconfidence ushers its presence,
Though dead it is,
Yet is made alive by the current of air.

Hunger for power is what,
It knows of; infiltration and invasion being its monikers,
Ravana's satanic inclination,
Finds its fullest expression in the manoeuvre of dust.

Tiny dust with power so matchless,
Scared of none,
In doing what it feels like,
Can't we learn from it perseverance and patience?