Trading Places

Had it been some centuries back

an imperceptibly herculean task would it be

Within the ever-present looming shadows of feared men

who belittle and squint the affairs of the commoners

who literally make up the fabric

on which the future inroads of this country may stand

So in the words of John Fitzgerald Kennedy,

I may say ”Ich bin Berliner”




Perhaps within the northern frontier of this colossal nation,

of which a seething breeze isn’t arduous to come by,

let alone the drop of inucuous waters

While precious stones may be lost

just at the toss of a coin

whether by sheer negligence or purported intolerance to self

But if that holds plausible ramifications

I’ll then have all my ”precious stones” tossed once again

And hold my sordid instincts in pole positions.



Watching on, as seers confirm to reaffirm

the secret of the insensate legs,

while the physical fraternity applaud to rise in hope,

right within their temporary wince



In my own adoptive franchise of reasoning,

”Ich bin Duitser”,

since nature is ironically afforded in salient quality

But had it been some centuries back,

an imperceptible task would it be



(This very note was originally penned down during my 

visit to Hamburg, Germany ; a magnificent city within 

its own rights)



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