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My Table

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My place is worried

for nothing

harried

for a few things

where is my place?

my table

on which skewed strewn are papers

unfulfilled wishes

hurt ambitions

a limp life

few friends

many enemies around

they hound

their laments

reach me at my table

as I maim them

hurt for hurt

They are dirts

my table is surrounded by a room

it needs a broom

to sweep off evils

that stick to me

like well wishers

they have done

so much well wishing

that I am forced

to call police

so here is my table

and here I am

still surrounded

by sordid bastards

called my ‘well wishers’

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Written by Glower4

Glower is a writer cum poet who is a commoner endowed with uncanny gift of extreme and deep abstract thought resulting in astonishing written word.

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