(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.



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