It was all but an urn with dust in it,
which I held on to and looked on for hours.
It probably had some color on it,
some artists impression from the far east.
Some imprints probably, a shiny varnish maybe,
But all I looked at, was the dust inside it.
Grey, white or brown probably,
Resembling so much the dirt on the streets
or maybe the stuff masons worked with
or perhaps the dirt kids brought home from play
maybe the remnants from a sandbox
or the dusting off an ash tray
I looked on and wondered if I could tell
Or place the dirt somewhere it may belong....
I looked on the shelf lined with urns
Standing grim and silent with no answers to give
All looked the same but with a label on it
And I wondered if the dust looked the same in them
Probably the stuff you swept off floors
Or the dirt from a dry summer storm
The memoirs of a camping fire
Or shavings from a sculptors desk
I wondered if I could tell
Or place the dirt somewhere it may belong
In my heart somehow I knew the truth
My fingers felt the writing through
A label with a familiar name
They probably had told this to me and was I supposed to believe?
This dust aint my brother I know
This isn’t the end of life somehow
Somehow years and years of life
Memories, voices, deeds and might
Laughter, people, friendship and strife..
Its all dust you say and I wouldn’t believe...
So I looked on and wondered if I could tell
Or place the dirt somewhere it may belong.
Tears probably or maybe not
I tried harder but couldn’t fight the blur
This ‘dust’ is the truth of human life?
Of all the years of togetherness
Of the sibling love, fights and friendship
Of games we played and laughter shared
You tell me this is all I’ve left... I wouldn’t believe!
No way .. So I looked on and wondered if I could tell
Or place the dirt somewhere it may belong.
