Careworn and sagging,

Like a banyan tree a thousand years old,

But one that hasn't seen water,

Except by accident and that too cold...

We are thy slaves!! Oh! Master thee,

Into various shades beaten sore,

Most often black and blue,

Yet, We live on. Through your years and more,

Passing from hand to hand.

Cutting us mercilessly,

You call us by different names,

We adorn your beauty or rather vanity,

Saying yes to your dastardly games.

Among these million worries,

We remain amazingly wrinkle-free,

Yet you replace us by newer slaves,

When on your buying spree,

But they with shinier brows,

They too cry out....!!!!

Oh!! Sir and Madam too,

Give us a little rest,

Let our beaten colours be,

That is all our request,

For blue and not brown is as you say

"FUNKY”....