The rain stopped falling
Slowly, swiftly and gently, a paper boat floats,
Along the gutter, at the side of a street
Preparations Underway for Dragon Boat Race in Pokhara
No destination,
No aim,
It just floats.
With the rhythm of slowly, moving, limpid water
Calm and peacefully,
It floats.
Carrying the vibes of leeway,
Of Euphoria,
Of Buoyancy,
The boat seems sheer blithe.
However,
There are somewhat terrible circumstances,
The tribulations,
The hardships,
Sometimes even a breeze that flows,
Makes the boat wobbled
It loses its original floating path,
And wanders aimlessly in channel
Sometimes, it ends up getting stuck in a whirlpool,
And circles there for innumerable times
Other times, it gets drenched by a sudden downpour,
Slowly, slowly, it loses its shape,
And turns into just a small lump of a paper
Futile and abortive,
Forlorn and shattered,
It desperately pines for regaining its originality,
And yearn for the previous blissful life,
The earlier insouciance,
But, it is too late.
Sadly, too late.
