I am a drop, a simple drop. A drop with less core and a very thin outer membrane of the fluid. The fluid, one like my blood. It flows and splashes and flows again. It just flows without discriminating between high and low; masculine or feminine or others; white or black; natural or unnatural; ocean and land; normal and abnormal; sane and insane; eyes and asses. It just flows on the path it gets and that is what a fluid’s unique characteristics is. I am a simple part of the infinite kinds of a simple planet. Being of less mass, I am free. I am naked. I am beautiful.
There are kinds, kinds of us. We’re all same, made up of the same thing like hydrogen, oxygen and death. Some die young whereas some die old, some die warriors while some die unsung; some die rich, some poor; some saint, some beggars; some die of guilt, some of laughter; some jump in the well while some race to reach the bucketed boat to get to the organised civilisations out of it.
We are incomparable but some have a different curve. The race is all about becoming one of those. We don’t have life spans, we have races. We are colourless on the outside but can bend a ray of light to vomit a rainbow. We can bend the lights of superstitions, assumptions and conclusions; and cut the glass of our cages only together. Though there are many kinds, some are yet to be discovered.
I take birth with separation. I grow over time. I travel to different places, different tastes and tongues, intestines and kidneys, from birth-giving to “Don of the diseases”, from birth of a revolution to “What’s this!?” at drunk nights. I take the shape of my master and only I master my shape and everyone has our own ways of life which is why everyone is important. We are unique. Technically that is what the world is based upon- it’s uniqueness but some insane yet rightfully reasonable freaks differentiate between the uniqueness-es, they’re artistic enough to relate one thing to the other. Many of these freaky drops have sunk histories.
The termination is written and same for all of us. Drops can either be burnt alive by the sun or lost in an ocean. Some of us get to choose how to die and the others are supposed to do as ordered, ordered on a table. Some die in satisfaction, others die in grave; some die depressed, others die before they come; I have been burnt by the sun as well as sucked by the ocean. I am unique. Either of the ways are incomparable, I would say. It hurts like peace, here in the sky, peace that the nature holds within and heals like chaos, chaos of the distribution of inheritance in the ocean.
Burning like in a sati, burning like in a blast, burning like in a bonfire. Look, I am a drop, a typical drop and that is why I’m consciously categorising death but let me tell you, the pain is subconsciously unique. The fire fed on me, Oh Good Lord! What a lovely day that was! I lost my actuals to the mighty fire. It burns the layers one by one and every time a layer is burnt, I shed a teardrop, I shed myself. Just like that I vanish.
The ocean sucks the character out of us before gulping in which is infact more painful than the latter. The ones who hold more than one characters last longer through this. I had only one so I lost myself. Just like that I vanished, again.
I am dead, lifeless, slaved, ripped, raped, shut, dead but okay.
You know why? — Because nature has it’s senses and karma has it’s ways. The ocean will break me, on my birthday the ocean will break me to make mass, prove it’s authority and my right. If it does not break me, I will swim. I will race to the boat. I will struggle for my character. All I need is 15 minutes in this 3000 pounds per square inch to make myself flexible enough to travel fast and find a lifeboat. All I need is a cloud to my head while dreaming about the early rains so that I can wake up when it does and ride to the planet clicking VIBGYOR in the atmosphere.
I am a drop, a simple drop and I am unique.
