To Dust - Poem by Anam Rizvi
The crusading warriors, the waves
Crash upon the bleak rocks.
Shards fly about in haphazard glory.
The icy breeze and howling wind chill and chide.
As the tempestuos waves crash on the sand with vigour,
Defeating all mere opponents,
As the thunderous clouds roll and gather,
As clear lightning traces a path in the sky,
As the horrors of nature bare open their bosom,
I wonder oh merciful Lord at the power you posess.
To make the self same sea so great and immense,
To make the dear blue clouds inflictors of terror,
To give such power and take it away.
The sea sits quiet.
Calm and serene.
No haunting whispers of the night before,
Of all that is wiped away and gone.
The skies call out to poets,
What a picturesque sight they seem,
The birds agree and soar above,
And all is pretty.
Yet the memories of that night persist in my vision,
And I sit and marvel at your power my Lord.
Man the conquerer, the victor, the glorious,
Man in a stroke of a minute reduced to dust.
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