Perturbed by calamities
unwelcome or invited
famine, floods
or wars unwonted
Lost at times
at the altar of ambition
gone too far
on the road of achievement
Thrown away,
left to tatter,
under the wheels of
pursuits pressing, urgent
Concealed often,
out of sheer shame,
from the roofs of palaces and
carpets red
Yet it is always there
lurking around....
behind closed doors,
between lost hopes,
peeking its plain head from the rubble
of a city just air-raided
In a haste almost always
to claim back its reign
from 'the rare', 'the aberrant',
'the earth-shattering', 'the monumental '
To level the present with the historic
and make way for the future
pregnant with prosaic
yet again
Call it routine, run-of-the-mill
cut-and-dried, commonplace
There is no tragedy greater
than having to miss 'the ordinary'
And that my dear ordinary reader,
reading this ordinary poem on
an ordinary day in an ordinary place
is the extraordinary power of the ordinary
Thank the Gods of
mediocre and mundane
there is no escaping the ordinary
try as hard as you may
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