A Dew Drop - By Raj Sharma

There's something that glitters there;
over there in that dark bush,
with leaves the size of my palm,
whose name I know not,
which beckons me.

I move away,
and it glitters again,
and again,
it is pleading now,
and, so,
I give in.

At fifty,
it seemed it's a firefly,
with fire within and out;
At Thrity,
a diamond,
shimmering in the hot white moonlight.
At Ten,
it's a mirage;
at One,
A Dew Drop.

Sitting there, at the top of the leaf,
it had a world of its own,
which stood still
lest it may fall;
Ah!
how beauty shrouds itself
in a drop,
sitting, where the veins of life
take birth.

Stop!
stop that gush of air,
which makes this tiny ocean swell with tumult,
when the high - ground shudders.
Ah!
it stops,
but, wait,
the drop is dropping,
painfully sliding down the middle;
Oh! watch,
watch how it stops at the drooping tip,
it's clinging on to it,
wouldn't let go of it's world,
its kingdom for so long,
that it stretched through the night.

But, then,
it falls,
it falls on my open palm,
my attempt to save a drop,
from dropping to its end.
But, now,
it's no more a drop,
just a bit of water,
splashed
and spread,
right in the middle of my palm,
my open palm.

What can I do?
Nothing;
I clench my fist and turn it,
and the water flows,
and flows out from
beneath
and drops down
towards its end.

But look,
Oh! look,
Ah! look,
its a drop again,
a Dew Drop,
that sat there,
at the top of a leaf,
a world of its own.