The anger sits on the nose
rather on the tip of the nose
with the cartilage bloating
and the bridge rising
the nose twitches for no reason
as if it has smelt a treason
the mouth then enters the game
spitting out words lame
cursing 
and stinging all through
like to get away from such men
teaching them a lesson then
should be undertaken without fear
as otherwise they would go in a square.
Meenas Poems 