The cradle is an inverted parachute
Insulating the infant, like the mothers womb;
A lulling limousine journey to the sleep terminal,
A respite to the mother's lap for a while;
The outdoor perambulator parades innocence
With fairy tale scenes filling the fancy of the kid.
The palanquin is a pomp of power,
Like an age-old trunk box stuffed with
The timeless arrogance of authority.
It makes beasts of burden of men,
For animating lifeless loads born to rule.
The hearse like the womb, justifies
Carrying as an act of caring.
From the cradle to the hearse,
The acceleration accrued is not accidental.
It is a pattern clear, of experience in power steering.
Why should a temple elephant go must
At god's own premises and steer its way
To trample upon the mahout that drove him?
Who should carry whom also fixes the hour
For who to drive,to steer and to wield power,
The carrier prototype norms framed from time to time,
Include schedules of the power game ever in its prime.
P.Chandrasekaran
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