Drops

The life of a drop is smaller than mine,

But it tries to give life before it dies,

Strange are the ways of life,

Where every man tries to survive,

Not for someone else, but,

For his greed in vain.

Not like The sweet rain, that drops as hope,

But like the storm, our life eats each other,

Strange is the human compulsion,

Our nature, our instincts,

Compels us to ride against peaceful nature.

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