Plea of a Banker.

I, son of Adam,
 I, the Common Man.

Just as my predecessor,

I love Nature,
I love Life,
I love Color,
I lust for Love,

I am a Common Man.

I wasn’t politically correct,
Neither was I diplomatic,
I was ME.

I was a common man then.

Donkey’s years back,

Serpentine had Hissed,
Eve was lured,

Had bit the forbidden apple.

Then on,

Mankind transformed,
Intelligent, I became.

I, the not so Common Man,

I, now the diplomat.

Of the transformed,

A few became bankers,
To sell dreams,
To inculcate savings,
To provide for the have-nots.

Have-nots progressed,

To be Bountiful,

Alas, the bankers still count,

Count their days,

To be bountiful.

Six days a week,

With no repose,

Nor

Tranquility,

We run,

To take the Republic,

To newer heights.

I, Voice out,

For a weekend off,

Saturdays to sit with family,

Sundays to munch with Son.

My Voice,

Echoes and thunders,

but,

Fades away

Amidst,

the stormy,

and boisterous

customers.

© 2015 Ajay Pai (Reserved)   Image courtesy: AJ's old Archives.

  

poem