Egyptian winds,
Changes the season ––
From blazing sun,
To freezing places.

Often, a wind tears the floating castle to pieces,
Blowing dust on unsteady paths.
Darkness hides a tiny mote,
Concealing an unruly scene.

Suspended in a sunbeam,
Hovering, seeking,
Its kingdom deems itself never-ending.
The mote’s only friend is vast space.

Enraging emperors, waging wars,
For glory, power, greed.
Who will save the majestic society,
This suspended fraction of a dot,
Causing so much chaos in cosmic space?

Wandering in obscurity,
Oblivious to the tides of time,
Unconscious of its fragility,
The dust mote perseveres.