The Delusion of Dust

The Delusion of Dust

by Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

This life this worldly life we walk in, dance in, chase in is not what it seems.

It is play.

It is amusement.

It is glitter painted over gravel.

It is the sugar-coating on bitterness.

It is a carnival of illusions where the soul gets distracted by the colors, the lights, and the applause.

Know this: this life is no more than momentary laughter in a room that echoes with silence once the music dies down.

We play.

We chase joy like children running behind bubbles, cheering at what will burst.

We boast about our degrees, our homes, our titles, our followers, our lineage.

We compete in wealth, in status, in beauty, in the sparkle of things that rust.

We parade our children, our success, our image then bow to the mirror of the world, seeking validation in reflections that fade.

But all of it…

All of it is like rain.

Yes, it falls with promise.

The seeds awaken, the soil drinks deep, and the earth bursts with color.

We see the rise of blessings and success money, recognition, love, status and it delights us.

It intoxicates us.

We believe we’ve made it.

But give it time.

The green turns gold.

The gold turns gray.

The gray turns dust.

The same flowers that danced in the wind yesterday now crumble underfoot.

What once stood tall in the field is reduced to chaff weightless, lifeless, and easily blown away.

This is the cycle of the world: it gives only to take.

It offers only to remind us that nothing here stays.

It feeds the ego while starving the soul.

And so… we stand.

We all will stand.

Naked of title.

Stripped of wealth.

Absent of followers.

We will stand before the Creator not with our accomplishments, but with our intentions.

Not with our resumes, but with our hearts.

And what awaits?

Either severe punishment for a life wasted chasing shadows.

Or forgiveness for those who saw past the illusion and lived in the truth.

Know this:

This world is not home.

It is a market where souls trade hours for eternity.

Some buy pleasure at the cost of their hereafter.

Others endure hardship with gratitude, storing treasures in the unseen.

So do not be fooled.

The designer clothes rot.

The cars rust.

The mansions crumble.

Even the body the very thing we pamper, perfume, protect will one day return to dust.

Yet the soul…

The soul remains.

The life of this world is no more than the delusion of enjoyment.

A dream that feels real until we awaken at death.

A mirage that promises paradise but leads to thirst.

So what shall we do?

We must see clearly.

We must love deeply, give generously, walk humbly.

We must stop worshiping what was made and turn to the Maker.

We must silence the noise and hear the whisper of truth.

We must live as those preparing for return, not as those pretending they will never leave.

This life is not ours to keep.

It is but a test a sacred, beautiful, fleeting test.

Let us not fail by choosing the temporary over the eternal.

For the one who lives for this world may gain it,

But the one who lives for the Creator gains both this world and the next.

I choose the Eternal.

I choose the Giver, not the gifts.

I choose truth over trend, soul over silver, mercy over mirrors.

I choose home not here, but there.

And in that choice…

I am free.