Taken For Granted

And it comes again!
Is it just a fit, paranoia?
Maybe it’s too sturdy to be illusionary!

Like the imminent air,
Used whenever they need.
Wood for the girl who abodes a forest,
Oil to the Middle East,
A bunch of morons ignore the utility and toy,
With the gems that elude the deprived.
I am that untoward who is taken for granted.

A door mat at least knows,
That mud is his destined lover,
But the feeble hen doesn’t,
That her most precious eggs one day,
Would be snatched away from her bosom,
For satisfying the lust of her master,
Nothing less than backstabbing!
A benign nature and generosity is at fault.

And if the scorpions can’t change their instincts,
Of stinging venom into the human who saves it,
How can I, a human be expected to curtail,
Those bloody features of his!

So does this leave me to a substantial grounding?
At least sometime for the ox to graze,
Before the cruel farmer gropes it again!
The pitiful creature has no choice but to submit.

If this is what fate has in store!
Then he’ll never be forsaken till the last breath,
But Nature settles all the scores,
Through a turtle like evolution over the ages,
Some respite for the wayside sacrament.

And this is what they:
Hen, ox, wood, oil and human hang in for,
Having their solitary possession, Hope!
Keeping which they burn in the lap of time.