A tiny rock, hidden inside the mud
Emerges onto the surface.
A crow pecks at it
And prods it
Until it falls into the stream
And gets swept, along with the other rocks.
Each irregular and unique in its own way
Deviated from its journey, now flows along with the rest.
Stripped of its rough edges,
And chipped corners.
The river ends at the Banyan Tree
And disposes off the stone
Along with a thousand others.
No longer quite so unique
Lost in the crowd.