By Hiranya Mukherjee
The Moon lay deep in thought—
The lunar luminescence glistened off of
The rippling waters, agitated yet happy
I saw a fish peek its head softly
As silver slivers dissolved into its pupils
It swam hither and thither, dancing
Playing, conversing with me in a hundred ripples
I saw. I listened. I smiled.
Suddenly, my hand began to itch
As I noticed the small pebble that my fingers curled around
Something made me throw it into the lake
Perhaps hoping to make ripples of my own by skipping the stone—
To respond to that dryad of the waters.
The stone didn’t hop
It landed uneasily, making a big splash
I bit my lip
After the ripples settled
The waters lay calm
Unmoving
Silent
The fish was gone
The foreboding Moon now reflected in its entirety
On the harsh, clean, dark mirror….
The waters were no more agitated
No more happy.
By Hiranya Mukherjee