I see you form a lens on my windshield
As I stop at a red light,
Lone clear drop of water.
A few of your companions fall around you,
But you have captivated my interest:
A perfectly round drop of water
Deposited by your angel escorts
Upon my windshield.
Have you memories, water drop,
Of your past descents, each ending a cycle
That all began with glorious creation itself?
Have you memories?
Were you amongst the drops that swallowed up
The world of Nuh?
Or did you land upon his strong and noble shoulder,
And stay there for a while?
Or were you a drop that clung to the hair of Jonah
As he came to his senses in the repulsive darkness?
Did you slide down his cheek and mix with his tears
As he turned in humility to his, and your, Master.
Or do you trace yourself to a proud parentage
Of one that sprung from the muddy heels
Of Ismaeel, as he lay on his back, a crying infant?
Did you quench his thirst, and make his dear mother
Weep with joy?
Or did you find yourself in a pail with little Yusuf,
When they hoisted him out of a well?
Cold and lost, but reassured.
Were you there, dear drop?
Or were you a party of those that splashed upon
The shores of the Red Sea, as Musa called upon his Lord?
Or were you perched up high on a liquid wall,
Atop all your companions;
Or down, at the bottom, watching his blessed feet
Lead the rest across a damp sea bed?
You cannot hold on, as forces break the tension and
Pull you down in a streak, just a little bit.
Weary drop: have you a memory of quenching the thirst
Of a righteous soldier of Talut,
Slithering down his parched throat?
Were you bid that honor?
Or did you babble in the stream that noble Maryam drank from,
And did you witness the sacred birth?
Did you touch litle Isa, little drop?
Were you a comfort to him and his mother?
Were you?
And when my Prophet rested at Badr,
Did you come down and wet his beautiful face?
Did you feel his love as he rubbed you into his beard?
Did your escorts stay by your side
A little longer than usual that time?
Were you bid that honor, my dear little drop?
Were you?
And now, as you slide down my windshield:
Does this my encounter with you separate
Your past glories from your future ones?
The honor is mine.