A Man Of Dust

A Man Of Dust short poem

Uploaded by Monika Arora


Blowing winds are your home 
on the streets  you walk
The earth is where you live 
  and rest on the rock .

Iron,no doubt, is strong
   but then, iron gets rust
down to earth you stay 
  You are A Man of Dust

From the Dust you came
and to the dust you go 
why keep fear in your heart 
      why make any foe ?

God send us all on earth 
   you and me;  as human
Rich and pompous my life is 
but true Pleasure you earn.

You  are A Man of Dust 
  down to earth you stay 
so rich in your deeds
simple and sober at your ways

Death will put an end to me 
In the grave will rest my lust 
the Fame I earned will go in vain
People will know me as A Man of Dust

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (2 votes, average: 3.50 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of
avatar
wpDiscuz

Radio Man

Radio Man short poem

Back in the Summer of eighty five thank God I was still alive music was filling the streets as I chilled by the strip here’s the trip many girls were dressed with flames both were not ashamed the innocence of

Tears Of Man

Tears Of Man short poem

Tears of Man You have the right to remain silent. Do you make the choice or remain violent? Do you evolve and become more civilized? Or do you choose to stay belligerent? You choose to be healthy, like you are

All Are Dust

All Are Dust ode

You may be a king, you may be a queen, royal blood may flow in your veins, born with a silver spoon in mouth, you may own entire world; still you’re but a dust. Sky may be your inheritance, oceans

Old Man Sitting

Old Man Sitting short poem

The bones are brittle as are the thoughts they crumble events of yesterdays that never happened things that happened not remembered today becomes another time faces and events mingle become a crazy quilt He sits and stares unaware of a

He Is The Man That

He Is The Man That long poem

Who said that dawn doesn’t know him? Yes … Who has said that? He is secreting night when the sunset flows to poem end ; the flute, which surrendered stealthily to the day song, it runs away from the maze