The Lake

You are left with peanuts
You wrap up the paper
Throw in the garbage
And look into the ripples
A disorted reflection
Stares back at you

You are left with nothing
Not even the peanuts
Or a thought, or a hope
Or even a motivation
The concentric circles
Slowly disappear

New things have bloomed
They surprise, they thrive
All things don't get washed away
It's never upto you
Despite your disturbance
The lake has calmed down

You look down
A perfect reflection
Stares back at you
Throw in the garbage
Ignore the ripples
And appreciate the rest

Afterall,
It's upto you