Security ,whatever it may be.
It is mortal’s chief enemy,
Quoth the bard Shakespeare,
Which sounds a genuine gear.
Macbeth’s lust for power,
Made him work up a cover,
To anoint himself,
As supreme self.
His abnormal desire,
Pushed him to the mire,
Making him a defunct puppet,
Dancing to his wife’s trumpet.
Midas love for gold,
Is narrated to the fold,
He wished for the metal,
In all things his hands settle.
His extraordinary craving,
Found him in a most stupefying,
Post of turning all things go;d,
Inclusive of his child behold.
Man’s fear in finding,
A safe haven binding,
To invest the hard-earned income
In a profitable venture whole some.
His deliberation finds him.
In a state of apprehension grim,
Sending him to seek security,
In every nook and corner gritty.
Unlike Macbeth the usurper,,
Nor like Midas , the referer,
This ordinary Man, the humble,
Should achieve his target simple.
Meenas Poems 