Natural Death

It died a natural death.

Tell anybody who asks,

It died a natural death.

Not by the fiery battery of anger blows,

The incessant clammering of spear-words,

The sting that leaves you low,

Labouring for breath amid a torrent of tears.

It died a natural death.

How could it not,

When it looks at the rise of a new day with anguish,

Rejoicing that the day before was better than the one before that.

It died a natural death,

While you were counting the clouds,

Refusing to acknowledge the light gleaming through.

It died a natural death,

And you compared sunlight with moonshine.

You dug the hole,

Even as you got a tan.

It shunk a mile,

While you dreamt about gold at the end of rainbows.

Deeply buried, it is.

You play the puppet master,

When there is no puppet.

It died awhile back.

And no one ever knew.

In My Mouth

I have something in my mouth.;
A spoon,
Made from copper it is
Because silver is gone.
Gold was offered,
But got snatched up.
I was given platinum,
It got stolen,
Not 'cos of lack of care;
Cos of too much care.

I know of someone who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, yet she is the most burdened person I know. She has been brought up to feel guilty about the fact that she has so much and others have less. Hers is a case of sorrow in the midst of abundance. She is her own worst critic in the act of self-denial.