Tuesday, May 9, 2017

The Glass Box

It’s big, it’s shiny
It’s made of glass
Embellished with wood,
Stone and brass.

It was built to be the shiniest,
Biggest, loudest, costliest.
So grand in show,
The talk of the town
Glossy and gleaming
Cream and brown.

Shiny fat balls roll inside the box
They roll and rumble
Mumble and grumble.
And all fall over one another, in a tumble.

They clash and collide,
Move close and grow wide
Ruckus they make
Care they fake.

The glass box shakes
With tension and pressure
Threatening to explode
Beyond repairable measure.

The sheen of the glass box is slowly fading
As is the colour of the balls inside
Scratch marks are left on the glass walls
And cracks are growing deep and wide.

It is all there is to the glass box –
Standing in pride
Delusional of its own delicacy
A shining symbol of hypocrisy.

A madhouse of rusted balls
Running helter-skelter
The glass box is now a source of misery
Instead of being a shelter.

It’s big, it’s shiny
It’s made of glass

Who knows how long it’s going to last.