The Travellers

They came walking down the dusty road

Crowned with flowers long faded in their hair

Uncounted, long and lonely paths perhaps they trode

And some parts of them still linger there

They look tired and and they look shaken

Crowned with the dust of many years

What toll from them have the memories taken?

Or perhaps awoken ancient fears...

Where does our road lead?

Whence the travelers return

What unknown path do we tread?

From what perils will we have to turn? 

Before we can return to our abode

Or shall we willing or not, have to linger there

Like them who came walking down the dusty road

Crowned with flowers long faded in their hair

Drops

Pittering-pattering drops of rain
Running down the window pane
In tiny meandering streams
Reflecting iridescent beams
Of light many hued and shaded
The colour on the walls has faded
Yet now it's tinted by the rain
From once-dull to wet-again
By the pittering-pattering drops of rain...

Dust

Where it all began
And where it all shall end
Flying and whirling
Settling and swirling
In clouds and puffs
Whether engendered by rocks
From mountains forgotten
Or metal precious mined
Human skin or river skim
It all melds into one
Dust is levelled
It is no leveller
And dust is omnipresent
It was before all
It will be after
The futility of the in-between
A cosmic joke
Or a hidden truth?