If there were a 100 holes in the dry ground,
small rivulets of water would get accumulated after seasonal spells of monsoon,
a blend of mice, rabbit, and ant would continue to live in passionate harmony.

If there existed a 100 holes in the ornately sculptured tea kettle,
Sizzling droplets of brown liquid would ooze as if from a lawn sprinkler,
Scalding all in vicinity with boiling showers of freshly made tea.

If there were a 100 holes in well spun office shirt,
There would probably be no need for fans and large coolers,
Natural draughts of air would pierce sweat laden zones of chest,
Thereby compensating the need for artificial contrivances.

If there were a 100 holes in the base of my leather shoe,
Fresh waves of wind would ventilate through my feet,
Hence filtering tension clogged veins inhabiting the body.

If there were a 100 holes in luxury liner floating on ocean water,
Saline liquid from the sea would painstakingly penetrate,
Ergonomically plush interiors of ship would be flooded with water,
The ship made of the strongest wood fibre would sink to the bottom of the ocean.

If there were a 100 holes in the juicy fruit of african apple,
A cluster of worm would nibble its core,
Rendering it as a commodity to be used as a duplication for stone.

If there appeared a 100 holes in the flaming silhouette of Sun,
The light dispersing on earth would be complete with gloom and haze,
Prompting the young to walk with sticks in their hands groping blindly for
direction.

If there were a 100 holes in my heart,
I would drill it with many more still deeper,
Filling them all with reflections of whom I loved,
Keeping them full upto the brim for the remaining quota of years,
I am destined to tread on the soil of earth.