A tiny droplet hangs on the rail,
trading spherical beauty for delicate balance.
Clinging to the iron with microscopic,
invisible hands, it exudes a strange nonchalance.
All around there’s great commotion though,
as the sky shoots a continuum of rain-arrows.
In breaching the hull of enemy it fails,
roars with thunder, for its anger grows.
In principle, the droplet completely disagrees
with the mad-rage strategy of rain.
Direct attack on codename Earth is suicidal
it reckons, a definite act in vain.
It believes in the element of surprise instead,
and so in silent stealth it waits.
Perched, as an instinctive predator, it lurks
till the fight in the prey abates.
In the duel of surface tension and gravity,
the brave droplet knows it’s to decide.
So it keeps a watch on the war-scene
through its twinkling, convex eye.
But abruptly the rain stops and the sky waves,
a vibgyor flag of meek surrender.
Anguished, the droplet moves to pounce,
for a death of honour it would prefer.
A shiver just before the final push,
as the wind kisses the brave martyr.
It takes the final leap of faith,
and merges in the lifeless puddle of water.
Then the droplets show true character
as another soldier takes position.
The spectacle is fascinating, inspiring;
inexplicably, for no apparent reason.
~ Ankur.
