Watching the marching ants,
While I wondering their monotonous strife,
A weary one left the line, away he walked to a lonesome land.
Hands on head with faltering gait,
Dearth of joy, he wandered a bit.
There he lied low to the ground,
Kissing mother earth like a depressed ant.
Is he an osculator, mourning on his vacant love?
Or he an emulous one, cudgeled by a better brain?
A miffed rummager of copious grain,
Or he repenting on a horrible crime?
I pondered on his dreadful distress
Longing for the profound stillness.
Watching the painful life, astir my humanity,
Finer ways I posit, to end his endless tomorrows,
From a creative mind, unknown to the quizzical ant,
First I gifted a bubble of water, for him to drown in style.
But he moved in insolent silence,
May be knows the art of swimming!
Then I helped him to the edge of the land,
For a profane jump to the bottomless deep.
A coward fearing height he retreat,
Back to the land panting nervy.
Later I offered bane of death, but he sniffed and moved away.
Then a knot for him to hang, eyeing it he jumped through it.
While my drained splendid mind, puzzled by his mocking insolence
Sneering at my humanity, picking a hill on his shoulder
He walked back to the line of labour, leaving me - the foolish human.
Life is dancing in the background, on the stage of silent death.
