Dust and a bit more .. 

My books had gathered dust

Even the floor looked unclean

How long have I been sleeping? 

The ceiling was not white, I remember it was when I had last said good night 

What was I missing and what went out of sight?

I sure haven’t been sleeping this long 

To wake up to fine particles of dust song 

Though they were rhythmically in tune 

I didn’t have much reasons to fume 

They weren’t going off sync or hitting my lungs 

The particles were instead building up their own world, bit by bit, crust by crust 

I wish I had been a witness to the first particle of dust, the very first one 

At least I could trace their genealogy long after they were cleaned and gone 

I guess no one will ever tell me when and how the first particles rose to fame 

Over my books, my chair and even my photo frames 

Hang on! Their clusters hardly look the same 

Does that mean they have preferences too? On who to cover and who not to? 

Ahh! Why would I talk to the dust?! They can’t speak! Can they?! 

Maybe I should listen! Perhaps they would ring in their patterned stories to me in some way or other.

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