Change is like a tiny ripple,
Upon the surface it lies, just like a cripple,
And on this vast expanse of time,
It searches for its role sublime,
Alas it seems to be too weak,
And to the world it looks timid and meek,
But look that ripple oh so small,
Has spread a small distance on its own.
As this ripple dies and ebbs,
It plants another in its stead,
But look this time it is not one,
The surface is broken by two at once.
And hence they spread and grow and thrive,
Until the smooth surface swarms, like a ripple hive,
This time the ripples do not look weak,
They storm, they shout, they howl, they shriek,
Their war cry pierces the darkest shroud,
Their chant reverberates against the clouds.
Within no time a silent breeze arrives,
It seems to whisper to the hive,
As moonlight breaks the moonless night.
The tempestuous breeze cannot be allayed,
It turns the ripples into towering waves,
These mighty waves so supple and strong,
Are generals who control the swarm,
They rally their forces behind the raging wind,
For they are the instigators of glorious change,
And one can only stare in reverent awe,
As they forge ahead and resistance thaws.
But when one ventures through the triumphant ranks,
And heads to the centre from the banks,
One is but shocked to see the mighty waves,
Bow to the ripples along the way.
.
Email this story 
Print Story 
Add to reading list
