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Before light had fully awakened,
before morning had opened its eyelids,
a dewdrop sat quietly
on the tip of a blade of grass.
Through the night,
darkness had shaped it with tender fingers,
washed it in the breath of stars,
and burnished it with the touch of moonlight.
It was not an ocean,
yet it carried an entire sky.
It was not a mirror
yet it turned the world upside down.
Within it, trees stood with bowed heads
clouds paused to examine their faces.
When the sun smiled for the first time
the dewdrop caught that smile
and scattered it
like the radiance of a thousand lamps.
The dewdrop never spoke of itself
It was a silent sage.
It never introduced itself to the wind.
Its language was simply to be
its poetry, simply to shine.
Time never paints life
on the same page forever.
As the sun climbed higher,
the dewdrop's body dissolved
into warmth and light.
There were no farewell ceremonies for it,
no memorial stones.
Like a brief flash
merging into the sky,
it vanished from sight.
And yet
Who can say it disappeared?
Upon that blade of grass
a moist memory still remained.
In the brightness of that morning,
its touch still shimmered.
Are human beings not much the same?
Some remain in our lives for years
yet leave behind no trace of remembrance.
Others arrive
like dewdrops
they stay no longer
than a single morning.
Yet after they are gone
a new light is born within us.
For it is not only what endures forever
that deserves to be called Great.
Even what shines for a moment
can teach life its meaning.
This is the secret
the dewdrop revealed:
What matters is not
the length of time we have lived,
but how far our light has travelled.
A single moment is enough
to make the world
a little more beautiful,
And then depart
quietly.
Image Copyright - Varala Anand |
