The Bottle In My Room
The Bottle In My Room
It doesn’t talk,
It doesn’t want,
It doesn’t demand,
Nor does it command,
It’s not just full and filled with
Water,
But is fulfilling, by
Nature,
It has nurtured me,
And has served me,
Since the time
Immemorial,
But has never asked for things,
Temporal,
It bears it all,
It has it all,
It’s the source of
Life,
To me, in a way,
Serving me,
Morning, night&day,
I never realised its presence,
Why would I?
After-all? That’s my
Justification
It doesn’t understand,
Figures of speech like,
Simile, Metaphor and
Personification!
The 200 milliliter
Bottle in my Room.
Yet, it hides all my secrets,
And burns my all body-fat,
It doesn’t fuss around, about
This and that.
It feels warm when it’s winter,
And cold when it’s summer,
It lets me sip
The content it carries, without
Hurting a bit,
It sees and senses
My lips,
It’s joy, grief& melancholy,
But never does it talk about,
Things unnecessary,
And people more worldly.