Speckles of dust

In the vast cosmos,
how bright is the sun
how far is the moon
how small we are ?
In the stationary clock
hanging in the air
what the hand points to ?
When I find time
to stare at the irrelevance
of everything around
a silence within, quashes
the noise
as I search for meaning.
Tiny particles of dust - you and me
swept away
by the slightest of the wind
to places where we
eventually settle
offering a protest - too feeble,
to merely convince the self.
But, on some days
as the rays of light fall,
on a placid soul
piercing the void in the air,
some speckles of dust glitter
brighter than the stars
to kindle the heart
with tiny pleasures of life,
rendering meaning to existence
in a momentary bliss.
”A whole minute of bliss!
Is that really so little for the whole of a man’s life?”