Saturday, February 26, 2011

A Packet Of Milk

Pressure is on me, Pressure is for me …

I can only sit and scratch my wit,
Why on Earth am I so talked about?
I have no say on what should I do,
Give me a break to have a loud shout.

Pressure is on me, Pressure is for me …

The commodity that I pack has a royal price,
The poor may not purchase it and others may think thrice,
Whiteness of its demeanor hides the Ugly fine and nice,
No wonder very soon it will become a public vice.
Those who may want to help have been left high and dry,
Whatever quantity we may produce, it may not ever suffice.

Pressure is on me, Pressure is for me …

Early morning kick-starts a compelling desire for me,
Late into the evening, gentry slog around in queue.
Weight of the Purse and the daemons of wife’s curse,
Make one rush for me in yellow, red, green or blue.
Compromising for quantity and ephemeral quality
Leaves one charred, this fact is so true.

Pressure is on me, Pressure is for me …

Why has it gone sour under its white hood?
Ponder over this and find it out we should,
Adulteration is always condemnable and wrong,
Children have died when save them we could.
Rot is quite deep and ignore it we cannot,
United must we stand to bring it out of the wood.

Pressure is on me, Pressure is for me …

You may hate me, you may obliterate me,
And I share the blame for this fall,
Demand of my broods cannot easily go down,
Improve we both must through steps big or small,
If you could pitch in your hope and endeavor,
Promise do we both to stand clean and tall.

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