In this niche so to call
But a cell
Not even an inch to throw
Or play a ball
We fall and rise
In this hell of guilt
In this cloudy but
Lonely jungle
Where we sing and mingle
All along
Some day
We’ll all become single
And all apart
Is this really a cell?
Or a unit of life?
Size like a pit but
Capacity more than a net
Growing and raising
Some stingy sticky pets
What a stuffy place
To behold for a while
Some come and live
For all their life
Here is rich and well equipped
With both the poor and rich
In this net so to call
But not a hall
Where we smell the iron
That serves like a door
Same is used as a bell
To call for a need
Tears and fear are all we bear
We share, hear and feel for others’ tales
But that keeps us strong
And hopeful enough
CELL,
A unit of life now a unit to live
What an irony of life to behold.
The beauty of any poem is mainly link to the choice of words and the verbally use of it.
No is consider perfect if it doesn’t have rhyme.
Really appreciate your work.