Mock Epic: The Odyssey Of The Waiting Room Poem by ashok jadhav

Sing, O Queue, relentless river of mortal patience,
Of one brave Citizen who dared the Halls of Bureau,
Where fluorescent suns glare down on weary souls,
And Time itself moves slower than the pens on counters.
Behold the Hero, documents clutched in trembling hands,
Armed with faith, and slightly frayed forms,
Who ventured first to Window One, guardian of tickets,
Who spoke in tongues of stamps, signatures, and approvals:
"Return tomorrow, with proof of proof, " she said,
And waved him onward, pilgrim of endless paperwork.
He faced next the Dragon of Waiting: Hall of Chairs,
Where Citizens huddled like exiles in exile,
Counting minutes, muttering sacred curses,
As Time advanced with all the grace of glaciers.
Pens clicked, phones buzzed, coffee was sipped in solemn ritual,
Yet none moved faster than bureaucracy's creeping shadow.
Window Two demanded scrolls unknown, forms unnamed,
A ritual of documents that multiplied unseen.
The Hero, weary but resolute, obeyed each law,
Bowled under by rules, regulations, and rules about rules.
At last he approached Window Three, Oracle of Approvals,
Who stamped the papers with divine indifference.
"Approved, " she said, and the Hero emerged victorious,
Bearing the spoils of his odyssey:
A certificate, a license, or perhaps just proof of survival.
Thus ends the epic journey through Government Offices,
Where courage is measured in patience and queue numbers,
And every citizen, heroic or foolish, learns
That bureaucracy is a labyrinth eternal and absurd,
And the pen, stamp, and signature are swords against Time itself.