(Photo courtesy of Wikipedia)
By Caren Chelagat
Distant river banks and closed windows are witnesses
That pain cannot be written into lines
You’d probably misjudge my turbulent tides
A p0rcelain pottery it seems
Delicate and feeble art it portrays
Who can bell the cat?
Who can bound chains to the cat?
A fortitude threshold an intense pain
Everything looming bows down in the rain
We are tied to chains
The cat is having to its fill
While we are left with nothing to even quench our thirst
Deluge of information Flowing through
Conversations dripping too Sent by a deluge of mails
Flipping through the mail box
The rule had been passed through
Each and everyone had a say through it
But no thought was taken through
The top head belonged to the top dogs
As they sailed through their say throughs
That was implemented on their orders
The followers were just but a tip through
To convey information to jut but get a through pass
As they hailed to the top dogs
Without gaining truth
They just but followed with bitter truth through them
But their greed for promised toppings topped it all through
And they availed to follow it through.