I am a droplet—just a small droplet.
One day, I fell into a lake.
The water didn’t crave my presence,
but there I was,
And with a soft smack, I broke the silence.
I shivered the surface and I started to send ripples outward,
And these tiny ripples slowly started to stretch toward the shore.

The lake already barely remembered I had landed,
but, I kept stretching and growing.
One ring, two rings, three rings, …
Each of them was a promise slipping from the center,
making its way in a widening circle that brushed the surface of the water.

How many of these rings have I cast since the day I landed?

Sure, maybe the fish don’t care,
maybe the reeds just nod, amused,
and maybe the water laughs at my ambition
because who am I to think
I can make any difference in this lake?

But isn’t it something—
how even one droplet interrupted the calm,
how it pressed its will into the water,
how it insisted: Look, I’m here,
and the world has shifted, however small.

Call it hubris, call it naive,
but here I am, just a glistening speck,
dreaming of shores I’ll never touch,
hoping to be felt,
knowing I might be lost, soaked up, swallowed
before anyone even sees the last of my rings.

But I choose to believe—
that somewhere a lily shivers,
that somewhere a dragonfly’s landing shifts.
That one ripple carries a story farther than I’ll ever know.

And maybe that’s all there ever was—
a brief moment,
when the stillness gave way to the quiet quake
of a droplet that dared to be more than just wet.