A mosquito wallows in the filth it was born,
cursing its fate, it struggles to get out,
its effort cheapened by the mosquito far away,
born in an uglier filth.
Achieving freedom, it went to nourish itself,
the first prick, the taste of success, the fruit
of the hard labour, only to be swatted away
by the palms from heaven.
As it falls to its death, the mosquito far away,
waves, cheers, acknowledging a life well lived,
but the fallen one, only wonders what it means,
to live.
cursing its fate, it struggles to get out,
its effort cheapened by the mosquito far away,
born in an uglier filth.
Achieving freedom, it went to nourish itself,
the first prick, the taste of success, the fruit
of the hard labour, only to be swatted away
by the palms from heaven.
As it falls to its death, the mosquito far away,
waves, cheers, acknowledging a life well lived,
but the fallen one, only wonders what it means,
to live.
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