Circle

I stared at the circle that refused to end.

It was deceivingly straight at every bend.

Every point tried to maintain its distance from the arrogance of the centre,

Stringing with the ally at an angle of balanced evasion and synchrony.

Protecting in curved disarray, the beauty of negative space.

And unwittingly,

The Nemesis.

I stared at the circle that refused to end.

It embodied infinity in mere juxtaposition.

Every point experienced an outward force that threatened to appropriate,

Making the circumference vibrate and confuse my stolid vision.

Protecting in unity, the enigma of endlessness.

And unwittingly,

The Truth.

Raindrop

I love the rain. And I love the raindrop.

It swallows the sunlight into its little bubble of oblivion,

And plays around with it as if it were a little ball of gold,

A ball that strikes different spots of the bubble from the inside,

Making it glisten.

But its heat is almost scared of the coldness of the water,

And so it rebounds as soon as it hits,

Repulsed by the thought of striking something so cold,

Yet choosing to stay within, out of respect for the purity.

And so these little drops of gold have a constant upheaval within them,

And yet they stay together because they trust each other.

And when they strike the ground, they grow apart:

The water dissipates into the water,

And the light floats around in it.

And although, they seem to be separated, the truth of it is,

The light is relishing a rediscovered freedom.

And instead of depending, as it were,

It is sharing.