A poem should be soundless as the flight of birds...A poem should be equal to not true....A poem should not mean but be.

The hot chair

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The latest news was
About a hot, hot chair
I wondered what it was?
Some said it had great magnetic power
Some said it had all evil forces
That once even an honest person
Gets on that chair he burns
And believes he is God.
He wouldn’t let any one around
Magical, magnetic or evil
What is this non-living chair
That melts the living one ?
So much of power, so much of fame
Yet useless without mind and men
Most of the earlier men who sat on this very chair
Melted like iron and turned into swords
Cautioning their foes ‘beware this is mine,
Or you see the sword.’
But none till now seem to be made of gold
Who would melt and be pure?
The chair must be tired of irons
Longing for gold I believe
But still on the news
Stands the hot, hot chair
Would anyone like to sit on it?


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Dinita Rai
J P Sharma Road