WATERY
                               
Numberless pores are there in water.
In water that has come a long way to us
are also weeping tears.

A tiny drop
too is an enormous body of waters.
As much as it is in a pitcher,
a river,
a lake,
or a sea.

The water loafing in the field is loosely built.

A wanderer’s heart is there
in the water inclined to speak.

Water’s lips are pleasantly cool
and juicy.
We enjoy sucking them.

Water is known to us.
We are not known to water.

The pond spat by the ocean
is in meditation.
The river, a ribbon of waters,
is running fast.

The pump is sucking water
dipping its mouth itself into the earth.

Water is hung as a canopy
in the cloud.
Bloomed is a white flower of snow
on top of the mountains.

On the sleek head of water
is a blue of gravity.

All thirsts
too have walked towards water.

The wateriness of water,
the lake of love for water,
have swirled down the throat,
in a watery way.