I poked the anthill with my finger,
Brown little ruins of a brown little town,
And then teeming life, armies of glittering black,
Old wars won, old wars lost.
Tiny marching feet, tiny dunes of dust,
And I thought teeming life came pouring out,
Just to meet me.
That I’d searched for mountains and found anthills instead,
Teeming life in those eyes, life without me,
Life lives while I reach my dizzying heights,
Mountains bought for millions, bought just for me.
The leached boughs hold flowers, drip like blood,
The flowers, moments, chased by the wind,
Teeming life in the air
Teeming life everywhere
For moments I’ll pay millions, so they’d belong just to me.
I pay millions for mountains, and they are dead,
Your glitter is alive for me, if only in my head,
The ants bit my toes, and ran away,
Why, I poked more anthills, just today.
Saranya Murthi is a 16-year-old student and is working on a novel trying to deal with the idea of expression and perception, and the transparency of interactions from the point of view of a little group of young people who just want to fit into the system of the world.