dewdrop…

I am a dewdrop. Here I am, lying peacefully on the petal of a beautiful red rose. Life happens to be a bed of roses for me, in a very literal sense. I do not remember my birth, neither do I know whom was I born to. Without a worldly identity, here I am, one of the purest manifestations of nature’s innumerable charms. Poets compare me to the serenity of a beautiful woman. Young and old alike, love to touch me and feel the permeating freshness that I exude.

I must be really lucky to have a life that is the very epitome of tenderness and purity. Am I happy? Do I feel gifted and proud? Well…

My life is nothing but an irony in itself. The warmth of the sun, which renders life to the entire planet, is my nemesis. The first rays of morning light, which can fill even the most morbid of souls with hope and enthusiasm, are flames for me that vaporize my very existence.
I am starting to wonder if there is anyone/anything who can live without grudges. There is so much for me to feel happy about, so much to exult, still all I can think of is the bitter contradiction that my life is.

Nevertheless, I know I am a part of this world, and however wondrous my presence be, I am ultimately bound to be governed by the rules of the world where I am born. Having said that, isn’t that the way everything in the whole world functions? Has someone ever heard praises for what is there before hearing grievances for what is not?

Possessions do not and cannot represent the riches one holds. Real wealth is in being able to feel rich. The Creator has made everyone with the utmost care, a fact we tend to forget rather comfortably. And the Creator, someone who is superior to just about anything, not only in this Universe but millions of such Universes, is bound to endow each and every creation with some virtue or the other.

Sadly, the creatures most affected by this syndrome are the all mighty human beings. Now that, I feel is the greatest irony, even more profound than that of my life, which I have been cribbing about. The Creator envisaged the human being in his own image. So much so, that He himself at times, descended upon the earth as a part of this noble race.

And what does man do? Never realizing the capabilities and the potential bestowed upon him, he fights. With others and with himself. He fights with others, not because he thinks they are superior to him, but because he thinks he is inferior to them. He fights with himself, because he has this knack of ascribing the entire fault on the very way he has been made. Not one human being can say that he is perfect. But sadly, he is. Sad, not because he should not have been perfect, sad, because if something is perfect, how can it have the flaw of not being able to understand its own perfection? He fails to understand the very simple fact that this perception of ability is his own imagination, a picture he has painted for himself. Perhaps, this ignorant aspect of man is the only thing that slipped the Creator’s brush. Cannot find a better explanation for it.
I am no different from this very superior race of creatures and at least in that way, am extremely gifted myself. I too believe that there is something wrong in the way I have been created and the way I get to live the few hours that I get to live. If man cannot understand this in a life that is a zillion times longer than mine, then how can I…

The sun is rising now. It is the beginning of a new day and new hopes. Not for me. For me, it is the beginning of my end and I would rather not let you see how sad I am to die so soon…

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