Mutables**** Poem by Sathya Narayana

The last dew drop on the red rose
flashed for a while, and soon vanished
with the advent of the Sun.

The rose kept silent,
and the thorns didn't object.

"I need some heat! ",
The rose tried a fake smile
"Before I drop at the roots
of my mother plant...
if fortunate at the feet
of the Divine in a shrine.
Tonight or next morning
my mutable life wil wilt!
I am a small phenomenon
before the Sun: the everlasting! "
"Let me feel good and content
the moments I exist! "