May be ants are here to test

Well of wellness is filled up
With your blessings
Said the roots of a vine
Climbing on a tree
Tendril holding the tender branches
Leaves curled coyly
As if they had just been caressed by the breeze
Now we should decide
If the rain will be let
Down to drain the suffocated tears
Or wash the stains of subtle insistence
Of a thunderstorm
To take its toll
Dont do a poll
To find out
How popular Is the detached devotion
Of a pilgrim
Who hasnot slept for years
In the arms of an assured evening
Let him lie under a tree
About to give way
To the desires of a colony
Of white ants
Whose caravan has reached the shore of an
Island
Where pilgrim has planned to rest
May be ants are here to test
The resolve of each other
To try, without a sigh
Without
A
Sigh