A dry glass now, gathers dust,
erasing any hope or trust,
as the element that does bring life,
does not appear to be so ripe,
the metallic taste, invokes in thee,
even though, there is a rise in fee,
for you can’t discern from pan or bin,
thus, like the lot, you repay the sin,
throw currency, at rotten batch,
become distracted by Royal Match,
care not for us, care not for streams,
just keep fuelling dubious teams,
in ambiguous prayer, we say,
“do we want or need a brighter day?”
For habit is crutch, and crutch is heart,
human and erring can’t be apart,
but on riverbed, a whimper scars,
through every drop in reservoirs,
that reek of our big mistake:
keep on working, without a break,
but then nature comes, with it storm,
then we quake, when it performs,
destroys the surplus, refills the need,
after drying off, we should take heed,
ancient things, should not be merch,
our relentless coin, does besmirch,
in an overwhelming, grey hell mall,
where our spirits, become so small,
every drop, is a precious thing,
only a waterfall can truly sing,
but only if monkey grants it so,
can we return to steadfast flow.