Tuesday, December 17, 2013

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.

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