The Religion of Dust
by Shoaib Kayani
A mote of dust blown from place to place
has no will of it's own.
Gusts of wind take it from place to place
the motes will none has known
"I am at your mercy"
defenceless it laments, powerless & alone
Men of courage who see by His light
stations & places to whom he has shown
The voice of the mote is apparent to them
they hear the direction it desires to be blown
Take heart and go to the place of the beloved
a beauty like Him none has known
That place where kings arrive like slaves
and by his benevolence slaves are placed upon thrones
In the religion of dust patience is the only rule
by the power of love it has been overthrown
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