Flirtations with Life

 

Here I come to this small puddle,

Sit on its shore and feel water,

Scorching sun, wind hot, dust fly,

Oasis driven, I but ogle at the water only.

 

Boiling pot it seems; vapourising layers,

Few lives drop in it suddenly:

Sparrows few wet feathers there,

Lifefully they escape the rising dead water.

 

With my feet in water and

Chin domed upon hands beaming knees,

I see life flirting in dying water,

Skin hard, meanwhile, feels molecules going up.

 

'Life is here or there?' I think,

Mirages over ponderous small waves,

Oh Yes! Water dies but plays still;–

Flirt we have with life; death weds in the end.