Who stands once more, in the queue, to face?
A full-blooded man, a half-hearted chase
What histories taught, but forgot to tell
That man made to last, till the time’s death knell
Once the Adam of bygones, is the Maker’s envy now
Beyond mortal frontiers, who pushed, his instinct’s vow
Though beneath, that skin, is the same brittle soul
Doomed to pay forever, manhood’s terrible toll
Yes! Obsession! His being, his only tool, his creed
A trillion miles beyond, has touched, this dogged breed
Alas, the same passion, his unmaking
More war than love to make, that fanatic’s undertaking
Is art his muse, or man, a myth of art?
Galore his flairs, beholden to beauty, his heart
Yet, penury, the true shade, of his core
Lord bequeathed him, a wasteland, nothing more
He is the one Almighty, or at least, he thinks so
What arms, fail to win, he buys out, with his dough
A vain statesman, who knows not, statesmanship
Power too has its limits, why a false God, to worship?
How earnest a believer, to the creed, born with
Man weighs his religion, in blood! Not a myth!
What makes him a ghastly zealot? Not his conviction!
A passion of “pious” power, a blasphemous addiction
A social animal or beast? Stuck to inherent class
For caste, a way to discern, “divine” from the “crass”
Do former, earn heaven, and latter, reap hell?
What a folly is man, not that hard to tell?
When the passage, comes full circle, what remains?
A spent man, with a broken prayer, in chains
Behind him, lies the labor, of his soul’s fortitude
A bounty-laden garden, and a grower, subdued
As time dissolves histories, evolves mankind
Eternal passion, strides on, fired by, a beautiful mind
Many times died, and still arose, this immortal clan
God gave a name to passion, and called it “Man”
Who fathoms that obsession, knows, the meaning of “Man”
© 2015 Vikas Chandra