Handful of Ashes

From dawn to dusk,

man runs,

collects matter.

Not a moment,

of peace,

of serenity.

And yet,

when death engulfs,

no escape.

Then and there,

empty hands,

six feet space,

burnt or buried,

a handful of ashes,

all remain.

Man runs,

from dawn to dusk.

For One Single Impression # 265