Sparkling hanging chandeliers,
Crystal for a diamond you mistake,
Cause it's fancier when it's fake.
Cutlery full of weapons,
pseudo minds and fake accents,
You trust the savouring tongue,
Even when it feels self-stung.
Pretty fat cats with their knives neat,
Ready to cut the sponge meat;
With lingering lousy meaty flesh,
You think it's easier to inhale the boiled trash.
Tipping butler for his not so real smile,
You kick begger on the pedestal
For little money and not a pile.
You object social status of a sinner,
Yet you go to a fancy dinner.
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Often the times we find ourselves out of place and realise that what we pretend to be or who we are supposed to be isn\\\'t what we really are. This poem is about getting stunned by the grand things we are surrounded by but we don\\\'t fit in easily with the grandeur that\\\'s now become the normalcy of the society and we\\\'ve grown to be slave of double standards that we don\\\'t apparantly accept from others in general.