Everyone for counter-condemnation

© Kapil Arambam 2011

all the bullets that are filled with scraps
It's more filthy than a garbage dump 
all the bombs that explode with nonsense
It's more wasted than arguing for the gods
all the blood that smells of our lost conscience
It's more obscure than the misty view from the mountains 
all the money that robs us of our sense
It's more grave than death
— several folks  condemn them strongly
— several folks dig into the earth to find some answers
Many a little  makes no mickle
And for their every disapproval
I would ever decry, 
their muted vocal
For I'm so powerless, 
I am made of cotton soul
I stick only when it is wet, 
yet I challenge 
and I squeak like a mouse, 
criticising picking apart for
my thought is as deep as a puddle.