Negotiable Instrument

I yearned to be born a piece of poetry

But as it usually happens,

I earned a life so prosaic and dull

Like that of a bank draft or a cheque.

He who made me, (surely not on demand)

Could have printed a nice piece of verse

Or could have

Daubed some colour on me,

Instead of filling those words and figures.

It was none of my fault that

I got the life of a negotiable instrument.

Yet they took pride in me.

I changed hands from bearer to bearer,

And was made to order

Which I could not bear (poor me)

Given a number and status was driven

From post to pillar;

Given a name and title

I was made to sit behind tables and counters

And made cages and chambers.

They stamped my face

Endorsed my background

And lived in princely pomp

At my expense.

But I kept my grin in tact

Even when I became a prey to

Bargain, assessment, criticism and dispute.

When I fell a victim to ridicule and laughter

Nobody cared for me.

Those who used to look at my face

With gleam in their eyes

Turned their faces away in despise

Seeing what has become of me –

‘A defaced cheque’

And finally

They threw me over the counter

With ALL THEIR STAMPS CANCELLED.