By Yasmin Rahim
Gathering along the sill
At dusk
Collecting
Like fibres of dust
Falling, floating silently
My figure wrapped
In a blanket
Of dust
My being comes and goes
Swells and disperses
Swept away, by a soft blow
Like dust
The city is roaring
Outside my window
Yet I am here
Aggravating dust
Silent,
Like the arrival of dusk
I am made of
Dust
Wells Street Journal 