Description: I have rewritten this poem "Dust" to hopefully fall in more favour from my beloved critics.
I am but Dust. -------------------------------------------
In the most hidden spaces of my memory
Dust devils scatter small echoes of my Memories
across the Walls of Yesteryear.
Shimmering on the Midnight horizons of my Mind.
Playful eddies of dust like an innocent child,
Impishly scurrying across my most sacred memories
unearthed from hiding places embedded
in aeons of drifting sands covered by
ancient mysteries from the fabrics of my universe
Sculpturing with tiny swirls of dust
visions from the ethereal deserts of my life
Shaping realities from the traces of long lost civilisations
covered by the soft drifting sands of my imagination
shaped by memories long gone:
I am an Oasis of Life,
Shaped by memories,
Written in the dust of yesteryear.
I find light in this, and darkness. I also see all of creation. Being both oasis and dust. . .
life and death, everything and nothing. . .
Do not give up writing in English. Many of us who speak no other language struggle much more than you! Also, I think sometimes those who are newer to our language can see things in it that we do not. Perhaps we're jaded by our own understanding. And please do not leave ES.
Your insight is unique. Your words are earnest. What more is there than that for a poet and his poetry?