Puddles

In rainy seasons, I have to cross those
puddles by my ground floor flat,
often, It is construed as an impediment
by many like me, the passers by,
those splash, murkiness, swarms of
readily waiting mosquitoes and flies
are nuisance, irksome ,
pure, falling water from above ,
how transformed into splash
mud , sediments on the ground,
As a child, how often I threw stones,
watched the ripples, observed
those crows and sparrows
their wet wings ,pecking at
the bits on the rim , flew past
into the water, swoop above,
at the sight of threatening human,
Even today, children cut their
School , to play paper boats,
in the puddles, a delectable
game for the innocents,
As I write, I peep, through my
grilled window, a crow
fluttering in the puddles.