veeraiyah subbulakshmi

Pour me into the glass; drink me as you wish,
Boil me in the kettle; look at me how I escape,
Keep me in the fridge; add me in your drinks,
Heat me unknowingly; see hot tears from your eyes.

Snow filled poles slapped with heat,
When I absorb the heat, I get excited,
Neither the solid nor the liquid,
Shiny crystals of despair ready to slide.

What happen in the poles is,
that happen in your fridge,
the ice crystals on the ice cream,
the runaway icebergs in the oceans.