It was a plate on the verge of a table,
A half of its body edged out and a half
comfortably placed on the brown surface.
I was sitting on my round stool, sensing the cool,
of the ceiling fan and calm aftermath of a morning walk.
Human life is like that plate on the verge of life
A half edged out of the world and a half
comfortably destined to be in heaven.
There are many other things on the table,
a laptop, its cover, and inter alia
all of them are well secured on the fragile plastic
table, and this poor plate is anxious of its plight.