A Poor's Penchant
For what am I born?
Born to consume myself?
Born to get plucked off my leaves and get torn?
Born to walk on ice and feel the numb
Born to be criticized, cursed and yet stay dumb?
A loaf of bread,
A bed on road often pitted and tread.
An earthy dust laden skinny cloth,
is what I bear, for that further makes me an entity to loath.
For who shall open his heart and speak few words of love and compassion?
For who shall disguise himself to turn meek, for a poor beggar who even can’t
afford his own cremation?
Oh! Almighty, you owe me life of kings!
To balance thou judgment and demolish those dominant devils
Oh! Almighty you owe me royal raiment’s and ravishing rings
And make those boisterous heads droop down, as if hollow glasses
bespattered after fallen from hills.
Copyright © Saptarshi Mukherjee | Year Posted 2008
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