She’s not merely fluid
yet not as hard as solid.
She’s flexible yet she needs
a longer time to reach
the sharp and the deep edges.
I saw her at times,
keeping her pace to reach all edges.
she stopped so many times,
yet continued her struggles.
But universe has her own way.
every time she’s about
to fill all the corners,
a big fat hand grabbed her and
moved her to a new container.
in each every old container,
she left a trace.
stains that even
the age can’t erase.
I thought after
one point and another,
she’ll have enough.
but her fluid never get solid.
She will stop only when
the universe says “that’s it.”
