The man is in a plateau’d valley,
It stretches between the rising humps of desert beasts.
The expanse is full of dust it shimmers but is not hot,
An endless wind shifts all traces of life.
It is cold in Sunlight and bitter by Moon,
The Children wear dead Fathers shoes.
No-one here knows his name or that he exists,
He might die and not be found.
He holds a handful of golden grains and lets them fall away,
He sits to curse The Bone White sky, and waits.
Notes from life 
A fine and subtle rendition, feeling like a Kahlil Gibran piece, with an undertone of acceptance for what appears unacceptable. The central character is like a dream , insubstantial, which conveys the sense of a vast nothingness that is the desert. Excellent.
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I was thinking of a dream I have, then in a literal sense of someone left behind in a place devoid of hope or places of reference to anchor such hope.
I don’t know if the source of this dream thought was born of my reflections on Afghanistan but I suspect there is a connection there.
Thanks for commenting Ray.
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https://www.theguardian.com/society/2021/sep/28/lack-of-social-mobility-in-uk-risks-fuelling-populism-says-fiona-hill
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