I dabble my feet in a pool of water,
Lying solitary on deserted tarmac,
A blend of algae and dirt,
With a caravan of powerful stench emanating,
Perceived obnoxiously by the breath center,
Comprising hairy tunnels of sticky mucus,
Creating waves of hazy drops,
Suspended in elastic walls of blotted water,
In an ambience of moistened blackness,
Appalling gloom of the sweltering night,
With fleet of birds chirping incessantly,
Propagating freedom through aviatory rhymes.
The water factory of micro-organisms,
Awaits galleries of blistering sunshine,
A million seconds of bated breath,
Fumigating it with clean rays of filtered light,
Breaking chains of trapped water,
Few days of stagnated persona,
Evaporating a hectare of water pond,
An assemblage of seasonal rainfall,
Into crispy delights of thin atmosphere.
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