My Cup of Life

By Deepali Singla

I wonder if these plants 

recognise the taste of love, 

or the aftermath of war. 

Maybe the difference between 

the two is, what only we 

humans endure.

Sirens of war groan in a distant city, 

flags of love spread 

fragrance in my backyard. 

Gunshots pierce through the 

roof of my neighbour’s dream. 

I sit still on the mat, 

seeking the purpose 

behind his collapse.

Here and there, 

infact everywhere, 

‘I’ and ‘You’ construct a wall 

within the house, etching a street 

solely for the home of duality. 

Someplace in my thoughts, 

I am yet a newborn nestling 

in my mother's womb.

Forward and backward, 

leaps the green frog, 

in and out of the pond, 

foraging the dampness for the 

seeds of existentialism. 

Somewhere down the line, 

I perch on a reposeful hill, 

sipping sunshine from the 

cup of the immortal dawn.

By Deepali Singla