Asmita

-by Asmita Mukherjee

The clouds obey me

Water themselves down

Whenever to please me

To make me giddy and gay.

But like every brat he disobeys;

As if he knew better?

Or as if he's the God himself?

Oh how careless of him,

Away from banishment every second.

There are often slaves praying upto him,

Yet he is my slave!

Me he should obey!

Accept as One True God!

But revolution is in their blood,

While the praise getting to his head.

The blood of a dirty mutt

Disloyal and greedy

Wanting to rise higher;

“Higher?” I chuckled wholeheartedly,

“Oh God! Everyone thinks to be a Lucifer, isn't it?

The revolutionary? The higher than God?”