Poem Title: Merchandized Boon
Author: Anish O Cornel
-Merchandized Boon-
There is a market in the land
A market where serious brawling,
Lurks under a pious hand
Sticks after sticks in wrathful handling,
And feral enmity on gaudy fangs
...
On highfalutin buskins
Many voices against their kins
The Jewish pride doth march
The wooden larks grace no more
But prate to get errant buyers
''If it is not 'tight', it is not fit.
The buyers must see our best''
These're voices of workers stuck in the moor,
They cast their boons like haberdashers,
To adorn their heads with self-crest
Alas! O brothers, this stage
Is not for the work you do
Our boon is for the Light
Unface yourself of hypocrathoms
Engraved on the body's might.
Do not measure your brothers'
best again,
For what it causes is pain,
And the inferior or the loner
When you should honor,
The Truth,
Do not stake your worship,
About the boon of self-best
Make no selling,
And buying, lest the fire
be agloom!
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