Upright I sit in grassy lawns, cuddling little fawns,…
Arrrr… stuck up. Stuck up again badly. Years, I have been stuck up like a rigid patriarch. Not bowing, not owing that I can be the cause of someone’s worry. And this rigidity comes from the firmness of my metal legs dug deep in mother earth but seat beaming up towards the blue sky. Whole day I compose poems for the idle mind is a devilish poet’s workshop but the evening brings along the objects or to be specific the subjects of my verse. A stoic company I have is of my friend Lampy. He stands tall posted next to me. Lampy smiles bright, when the sun frowns at the horizon.
“Hey Lampy, you sleepy fellow! Wake up!” I nudge the immortal rod next to me. If it wasn’t for Thomas(Edison), this moron would have been a pole dancer’s muse.
“Shut up oldie. Let me sleep. I was all awake last night as Shankar tossed and turned on you.” Lampy is catching up on lost winks for he lights the spark in Shankar’s dark life. Once an architect is now struggling for space in his own house. Good for nothing they call him. Absolutely I agree. Somebody who has given his best how can he compromise on just some good? So he is not good, offering nothing. He doesn’t offer easy money to his son, he doesn’t offer easy promotion to his juniors to the extent he doesn’t offer an easy outlet to his ordure too. Poor me; has to bear the volatile ammonical atrocities of clogged up fecal matter.
“Last night he whimpered, for his only son left the town.” Lampy gets shady sometimes; startling me with his untimely inputs. Not beating around that creepy bush, Shankar is my illegal tenant.
The guard obliges his stay for they say few years back Shankar had done some good to him. So Shankar lies on my lap every night singing melancholy in the memory of his wife. Torture you drill into me, one fine day I will pay back.
Last night too, he must have recited few verses acting as lullabies rocking me to sleep. Now he must have gone in search of some literal bread and butter for his arthritic bones make him lazy to earn a living. In twilight, many good for nothing will galore here and tweak amendments called wisdom. They don’t realize this is of no use and the generation-next seek practical utilities. There are no 3Rs of Repair, Reuse, Recycle; it’s just Use and Throw time.
Hey but wait, where are the seniors today?
“Look there they are carrying Shankar on four shoulders decked heavily in flowers.” This is height of mediocrity from Lampy. Not a lump in this lamp’s throat while revealing a deadly scene.
Rest in peace Shankar, life is not worth the struggle!
All I can offer you is a badly clogged poetry. As you sow so shall you reap, RIP!
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