At first sight a puddle seems to be,
Less inspirational than a lake, river or sea.
But the puddle which seems so calm and quiet,
Is made of drops which have been through a windy riot,
And faced conditions so utterly frightening,
In the company of thunder which is in pursuit of lightning.
And on falling the puddle which the drops form,
Marks their victory over the storm.
Eventually the drops shall join the clouds again,
And then probably fall on a window pane.
But irrespective of where they end up subsequently,
The drops would have enjoyed a phenomenal journey.
So though at first a puddle may seem deprived of glory,
You would be inspired if you knew its story.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem