The little dust in the room's corner; Set aside--swept into a diminutive heap. The Lilliputian assemblage of dirt; Encrusted with pulverized silt. He gazes on, with infinite wonder; Scrutinizing what's, even, the matter. He stares at the girl, sitting-- Sitting at the other corner, thinking. The minute mound peers at her. The lass seems, completely, battered. If only he could, gently, touch her cheek; And tell her, not to look, so besieged. He tries to summon the wind; Begs for some, timely, assistance-- To reach the lady; to cross the space; There, to that curve of the place. The zephyr offers him some sympathy. "How pitiful, you are!" says he. The breeze puffs up his cheeks; And huffs about, then blows. Off to the woman, who's lost in grief-- The drumlin of smut flies to her; Then, sweeps over her cheeks-- Praying that she smiles a little--even a bit. "The Dust In The Corner" Thanks for this writing prompt, Bro Pratik Pandya. Here is the poem. I hope you like it. 😁🙏 #dust #heap #life #yqbaba
