The fallow land stood where the rivulet
Took a turn, some rocks held firm like a daunting silhouette,
This is where our Pots would come
And the remembrance of a waste got lost
We made some tall chimneys, one got bent
And some hard working crew got the act with casters, turbine,
Rectifier and the towers will someday make life less sleepless
And the meadows would have no loss in crops or compete for a needful resource
I realized what Coase had in his Theorem,
How a social construct is made, not by laws
But the soaring need for adjustment
Creeps inside every constituency in conflict
We made amends with some
The lines were firmly drawn; but I dotted them in green
Lest the infirmity not be calloused
By a drive that does not make an allowance for
Many ways of working, each with a desire to excel
On its own.
Procyon Mukherjee, 23rd July, Hirakud
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