The speck of dust that was defiant

the speck of dust became defiant

when winds came shifting and stormed by

the speck of dust is self reliant

and needs no catching in the rye

the speck of dust is not compliant

with how the other specks behave

the speck of dust thinks it’s an island

and has no business with the wind

the speck of dust is fierce but pious

in search of specks that hate to fly

the speck of dust loses its balance

when almost all of them decline

the speck of dust dreamt an alliance

with other specks that hate to fly

but now the speck thinks it’s orion

and has a birthplace in the sky

the speck of dust was once defiant

the wind dislodged it from the flint

the speck of dust was once defiant

but now it’s cradled by the wind

Wrote this as a symbolism for change.

We become so used to our routines, people and habits, that we become just like the stuff that settles on them.

Like dust.

Stale. Dry.

Like microparticles of dead skin, settling on cracked, old bones, barely emulating functional tissue.

And aren’t we all, individual specks of dust, swirling endlessly around?

Most of the time we’re blind and misguided but oh so blissfully grateful when we finally realize that all it takes is letting go and let the wind carry us to the heavens.

And just like a gust of wind that stirrs things, the new upsets the old. It rules out apathy and plants discomfort, doubt and fear.

Sadly, healing involves hurt.

But change also comes with an oxygen mask for the tarred lungs of our habits.