Today while travelling via road,
I took a look at a displayed board,
I read.”Income tax should be paid.”
But it was torn and its colour was in fades,
I wondered how many took a look,
It seemed as an old torn nursery book,
With scribbled writing inside,
And its torn cover kept aside,
It gave me a strange feeling,
About my damned cracked home ceiling,
It is work that keeps us busy,
And little leisure time is not at all easy,
So I didn't get time for the repair,
Same as the workers didn't replace this torn prepare,
It seems money is our life main meaning,
Once thing is made there’s no time for repairing,
Today this made me think a whole lot,
While
in this jammed street spot.
Poet by situation
&
Not by birth...
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