Sonal Singh On Sonal's Table
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Teetering on the brink,
As if unsure and uncertain,
It totters.
Indecisive or may be hesitant
It reins in its dampness, and
Contracts into a moist orb,
Glistening like a drop of dew.
It lays there for a while
Vacillating
On the moist rim of emotions
Which churn in the bosom,
Kicking up a roiling maelstrom.
Then, as if mustering its courage
The driblet transcends the rim
And cascades down,
Trailing a damp path,
Like a river of elegiac dolour.
Finally…oh, finally,
The cauldron
Of this aggrieved heart of mine
Can bear no more, and I cry,
Subsiding into sobs.
By Sonal Singh
Image credit- Victoria_Borodinova via pixabay
