It Is Not Your Job Poem by Hardik Vaidya

To write a poem, neither mine.
Poems are rebels.
They stalk the forests,
Of your unknown canopies,
And leap out,
Grab you like the Sundarban's tiger.
Before you know they win.
Triumphant,
Like the Ashoka Chakra,
Timeless,
Supreme in confidence.
As if the pyramids of Giza,
Were pre fabricated,
Leaping out,
Of your sands,
Particles, washed off,
The rocks of your insoluble basalt,
Blooming without seasons,
Ushering reasons,
The compass key,
Of your civilisations keel.