Mock Epic: The Eternal Queue Poem by ashok jadhav

Sing, O Clock, whose hands crawl like wounded soldiers,
Of Heroes trapped in the fabled Waiting Line,
Where time stretches endlessly, and hope wavers,
And mortal patience is tested beyond measure.
Behold the Warrior, clutching forms and faith,
Standing amidst a river of weary souls,
Each footstep a battle, each glance a skirmish,
As the line advances slower than winter glaciers.
Around him raged the mundane storms of life:
Babies wailed like sirens, phones buzzed like war drums,
Coffee spilled, papers fluttered like banners in defeat,
And yet the Hero remained, steadfast and grim.
The Queue grew monstrous, a serpent of bodies,
Snaking through corridors, twisting into eternity,
Its tail unseen, its head invisible to mortal eyes,
Each number called a fleeting victory,
Each inch gained a triumph over Fate itself.
The Clock laughed cruelly, its ticking a drum of doom,
While Heroes whispered prayers to the Gods of Patience,
And fantasized about fleeing the endless line,
Yet none dared—none escaped bureaucracy's grasp.
At last, a shimmer! The Window appeared,
A shining portal of salvation and release.
The Hero handed over sacred scrolls and forms,
And the line surrendered him to fleeting glory.
Thus ends the epic of the Waiting Line,
Where courage is measured in hours endured,
And even the smallest step forward
Is immortalized in the annals of heroic endurance.