Our Judgements

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Those trendy jeans with adorned holes?
Or torn rags that embellish the kitchen chores?

That arrogant corn which reluctantly pops?
Or the heroic efforts that shot him to the top?

Those orotund adjectives which nobody reads?
Or the bland creation without those beads?

That ugly stare from the adjacent creep?
Or an unspoken desire of a weird sheep?

Those revengeful eyes that refuse to close?
Or the pangs of grief that withered up the rose?

That lady who lost her honor in yet another heinous act?
Or another gimmick with a calculated tact?

Judgement, eh?
Judgement is the need!
No one’s certain
Which way it should be.

‘Cause the light
It mostly accentuates one way.
While the other one
Like a mean shadow,
Thinks of itself as a
Self righteous day.

Where Is My Pen?

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A 7 year old raped brutally.
The students beaten mercilessly.
Crores laundered in the scam.
And democracy is now a sham!

Religion, a reverent affair.
Is now a sacred weapon.
Regularly fired in the air,
Its bullets, claiming tons.

And naivety is not more than a facade.
With everyone playing equal parts.
‘Cause the decent naives,
Are meditating in their graves.

The leaves are withering.
And the birds have flown.
But things are burgeoning.
As our society has “positively grown”.

I’ll write an honest account,
Of things that always haunt.
But where is my pen?
Oh! I forgot!
It belongs to “them”.