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The Compass.
Angels from Light,
Satan from Fire,
Man from Dust,
Man turns Dust!
Light has no pith,
No marrow in Fire,
Dust has a core;
Hot, cool and pure.
Many a Dimensions,
Millions of Hues,
Moods, Thoughts,
Passions and Emotions,
Only dust has it all.
No Origin, No End,
Still has a Mass;
‘Soul' we call the Compass.
poem
by
Tajudeen Shah
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