Fallen

A hair, short as moment,
Falls down my eyebrow and
Struggles in the air to keep afloat
Strives petrified and braves through the breeze
Swaying like paper bits stuck in storm
Resting on my hand and
Sliding down a fingernail
Looking at me in contemplation
Asking me questions I won't answer
And it is mundane, no special
A black flow worn out more than others
Except that it now carries a message
Intricate inside an enclosed drop
Of my eye's humour.
I stare and it stares back
And converses what made me lose him away
Unbeknownst that its answer lies in the new found translucence
Of its shell which followed quick in the drop,
And fell apt to shelter the old friend.
My tear fell on a fallen hair.