A Dilemmatic Drop

2 min read

A drop of water fell from an infinite cloud.
It was but a memory
of that infinite water source
which enriches the sky.
Clean as the morning dew, colourless
and transparent, it began its cycle.
It had but one goal —
to complete its journey back to that cloud.
But now it has polluted itself
with its own vapours; it can’t deny that.


It searches
for a different vessel
to contain its existence.
But none is a more fitting mask for it.
It tries to blend with a water drop —
big, seeded with
arrogance and the colour of bile,
and it tries to blend with another water drop —
small, filled
with the light of a longing lost.


But they are immiscible.


It sometimes freezes solid, sometimes lifts as vapour
and sometimes it flows into itself —
a compound of volatile emotions.
It gazes at the great
glaciers with their blue density.
But it doesn’t know that
they will also be melted by Maitreya .
It doesn’t see that their tranquillity is a farce.
The purest water always flows towards the sea.
Perennial is this water drop’s movements,
but it has lost its direction.


It is now just a drop of water
flowing endlessly under the bridge;
it wants to rid itself of its impurities.
It tries to wash itself in the rain.
But it forgets that to free
from itself the impurities
it must boil in the flames of repentance.


It fears evaporation —
the empty return, with nothing accomplished.
It fears being unable
to find its way to the infinite ocean.
Just another fear in the
dilemmatic life of a drop.


A lonely figure walking past that bridge
washed his face with that water,
and the drop, hiding in his tears
fell to soak —
a piece of paper.

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