Not So Balanced

Bidding adieu to hopeless hopes, depthless dreams,
Stepping into threshold of youthful maturity
Mayhaps seldom youthful, mostly mature,
Buried in the haloed dusty depths of ledgers,
Inhaling stale, yellowed inked mathematiced,
Leaves of rich lives, penny-pinched from youth or,
Mayhaps rained upon lavishly by indulgent fathers,
Buffed hands, folded laconically, indifferent to grovels
Turning other ways, attending to perfumed airs,
Backs to grubby arms and hands, scrunching sweaty notes,
Smelling sweetly sick sweats of hard lives
Counting cash, coins of the divined and reviled
Measuring debts to a certain untimely retirement
When good, are we lepers in living rooms
When bad, are we favored wedding guests
Life for us, hardly balanced as the balance sheets we live for.

by Priyadarsini G Menon

Comments (1)

how is this poem ironic