P.K. Deb- A Poem

The officers

We- the officers of the company,

the strong bony poles with brainy knot

of the colossal tent

wherein the company is brought up

and swelled up to extend the wings

From east to west in search of vitality.

Grateful the company is to its officers,

prompt to facilitate us with

the coats with many pockets- inside and outside

to be filled up to the brim once in a month.

Well equipped we are from top to bottom,

trained both by God and Devil,

quite dutiful with all honesty and shrewdness,

and innovate brand new tactics in every moment

that can invite a boom for ever

in the dealer’s and whole seller’s market,

that can make puzzled the rivals

to arrive at any conclusion and retaliation

and that make the consumers ensnared too

to stand in the queue to spray

Dollar, Pound, Rupee, Dinner and so on

in the pool of proprietor-

who plunge into it to swim

and we get a little wet too with the tit-bit-

sprinkled to us automatically.

Indeed, the grinding stones we the officers are,

blissful to grind the market in our mill

to produce oil and spontaneous too

to be fried by the proprietor himself

in our own produced oil to feel comfort.

Indeed, we are empowered with magical sticks,

steer on the owner of the company

and his paternal blockhead opens up,

on the ashes produced by it

to turn these into  glittering gold

and on the market to drive away

the black shadow of cyclical depression.