Some years back I wrote this poem on an incident that took place during summer when there was great scarcity of water.
HOLE IN THE BUCKET
I saw a little fellow carrying water
from a nearby pool;
His bucket was bigger than him,
quite large, though very old and shaky.
His large-big-shaky-old bucket
had a small little crack.
As he marched heaving out miles
of smiles with sweat on his brow,
and palpitation gone mad with
the weight he carried on his
little dishevelled head;
he left a trail behind,
carpeting his trodden path
with drops crying out from his crack.
But he felt elated with his pride
as he marched in regimental red.
Homecoming made him beam with joy,
and his heavy burden lighter step by step.
‘Your bucket is too big for you to carry,
Can I help you?’
‘No, thanks, I feel lighter now.’
‘But your bucket is cracked.’
‘No… It’s okay!’ was his determined reply.
He went his way and I mine.
poor fellow, when he reached home
all that was left
was his perspiration trickling
into his waterless large-big-shaky-old bucket.
It was very light indeed;
and no more a burdened weight
for his dishevelled head.
Dr. AJ Sebastian sdb