It is said that when raindrops fall from the skies and the harsh grounds soften, wings sprout from ants’ tiny black backs so that they may soar towards light and, futilely, attempt to appease their unrequited love …
Oh, how they croon and whisper and dance around the light! Oh, how they admire and cherish and worship light!
Such fascination. Such absolute devotion. Such intractable attraction.
And, so till matutine, till the very first stroke of dawn, they become slaves to light; all time knowing that with the very same light, their fragile wings would crumple and they would come to rest – yet, they persist, yet they linger – until death comes for them.
…. and so no wonder are they perfect embodiments of the concept of fanaa … destructing their existence, as they do, in the pursuit of a unbeholden love.