Mockery

They thrive on it.
It feeds their worth.
It riles them up.
They bleed; no mirth.
Shape, colour,
Accent, birth.
In matters of laughter
There’s no dearth.

Once, a joke,
Thence, a poke.
Amidst the folk,
In shame, you soak.

But shades emerge
From a plain verge.
So make your own,
Slights that are thrown.
Cause powers surge
When thoughts, you purge.

– Meera

 

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