Tuesday, August 25
A puddle of still water...
I’m awed by the power, the ocean holds,
So powerful, yet ghastly, so fantabulous, yet cold
It’s not a revelation, how much it can intimidate,
No man-made structure, to stop the destruction it holds.
Yet when I see, this little puddle of water,
After the rain, in the corner of the avenue,
Sitting idle, separated from its mother,
No direction, no escape, no company, no brother.
We all are destined, and so is this puddle,
The water it holds, shall dry with the weather,
No eye shall cry, no one shall mourn,
It’ll die leaving no trace, a puddle of still water.