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.