Precarious

In every predicament I face,

An inner hassle joins,

Sometimes taking over entirely,

Snatching the focus,

Blurring all vision,

Replacing the extant trepidation,

Creating its own,

And all that remains of the situation,

Is the immediate threat,

Of that precarious little droplet…

Forget the cascade of the mawkish,

This is about that singular traitor of courage.

And hence When I sat that day,

Like so many others,

In a quagmire of solution less tribulations,

With a spate of people around,

Trying to dissolve me into their conversations,

I was fighting something else,

A mockingly tiny mass called tear.

That restive bead of water,

Finding its groove and precariously perched,

Was warning me of its slip.

Like the last drop of glue

That peeps in and out of the tube,

It played its game on me.

The pressure building steadily,

I refused to blink, persisting with the stare,

And when finally alone,

With just me and my dew,

I closed my eyes,

The lids zipping hard,

And my cheeks wetted.

Phew!