A grungy molass, as it rests over the black monolithic stone notices a small crevice breaching the laws of the land while crouching low to avoid notice. As is its wont to do, defying all sense of propriety it approaches the fissure with measured restraint and an intention to forge alliance. A bonding, as it develops, harbors trust and mutual understanding. The molass with its infinite capacity to spread and the cleft with its palpable guilt coalesce as strange bed-fellows.
As tides turn and return, while the colors come and fade away the structure stands the test of times, strong from the roots and confident of its ancient foundation. Forces of nature however, conspire to side with the minority. The accomplice, in the meantime spreads out; encouraged by the stark cleft and undeterred by the unconditional reception.
As time goes by, wind and water sweep by with utter disdain the remaining vestige of pride while the unintended consequences of servility and colonial baggage continue to play its part. Slow poison, as it spreads, chokes (in fractions) the functioning cells while Sushruta stands by and confers with the quacks. As it happens, a bit of trembling is all it takes to dismount the rigid structure from the mantle-piece, dislodging with itself, the myths that surround the prophesied ideals, the supposedly unassailable and indefatigable spirit of THE CONSTITUTION.
Jargogled Impressions. 
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