A Flutter

A wavelet on still water.

A disturbance

on the surface

of the tranquil,

stagnant,

infested,

emerald coloured

immensity,

that twists its every part,

bends and misaligns

all its micro particles,

and shifts the darkness

around,

imperceptibly and

gradually,

while the whole world

carrying on

around it,

like a flock of birds,

not caring for their prey,

hurrying

to get back

to their respective nests.

And you standing

absolutely still,

taking in the rhythm,

the pain and the grief,

your desire and your ecstasy,

and scared of a sign,

an aftershock,

a recoil,

that may breakout

from within

and knock down

the sand castle,

that you painstakingly constructs.

While the rock,

once it starts that flutter

on your cursed surface,

sinks down unmindful,

to your deep center,

and you become grimly aware

of the impossibility

of a revival.