On my way back from club practice,
I stumbled upon an ant mound;
Its height barely reached my ankle.
There were two ant trails too;
One marched into the mound
and the other marched out of it.
Both trails extended across the road.
Today, I saw the ant mound again.
Its height had way surpassed my ankle;
Its width was as wide as my basketball.
And there are three of them now,
all built just next to each other.
When I arrived home, the rain was pouring.
I wonder what would happen to the mounds?
The next day, on my way to practice,
I went to check on the ant mounds.
But, only wet dirty lumps of soil welcomed me.
The marching didn’t cease down albeit;
Dry soil was carted by the army of ants,
imported from faraway lands
in order to rebuild their lost castles.
When I came back from practice,
The reconstruction had long begun.
Steadily, tirelessly, and in silence.
There’s a practice match next week;
I’ll visit again after I come back from it.
The ants remained unperturbed and kept working,
stacking soil up, lump after lump.
I lost the practice match and when I arrived,
There were no mounds, let alone castles.
All wiped down for a building to be built there.
The marching, the weight-lifting, the climbing
done by the ant army; they all went for naught.
What use were those efforts for?
I walked home feeling dejected.
Today, I saw the ant trails again.
Long across the road, but not towards
the building site where they used to head.
I follow the trail and is struck in awe;
A land—no, an empire of ants welcomes me.
In that empire, lies hundreds and thousands
of tall proud mound castles across its territories.
My chest puffs out with courage and resolve.
I turn around and break into a run;
There is a match I want to win tomorrow.
Comments