Master though you be,
Lord over life as it’s set.
Moments looms for we;
Conquered mortals, you we net.
Oyster sitting on the sea bed
Is invaded by a tiny sand grain.
The instant healing power it’ll send
Is a Pearl, its exquisite product of pain.
Marshalled by the little mollusc
And only as this harsh time is close,
At the point of such danger and peril;
The small oyster gathers as it feel.
It exudes a precious secretion
By its act of self desperation;
To heal, mend and save its life,
The result is a rare Pearl for life.
Is to live a curse or gift?
If you wonder, you need a lift;
Up to the skies of living memory,
Back and forth man’s own glory.
This very same old moon
Is ever again so young.
Surely as man has a head on
To his own nature it belongs.
Forever always he forgets
And not succeed in the sacred.
It is as human as he ever gets,
For divinity isn’t as he is bred.
For nothing forgets like man,
Far as he’s concerned, it’s fine.
Indeed to forget is so human
And to truly forgive is divine.
If man is made in God’s physical image only
Then every one resembles God’s looks wholly
With all the imperfections that our looks have
Which we had no part in, from cook to serve
Then we must wrongly view God as us all
A single personification; all of us in one roll
Now also look at man’s inability to be alike
In all his abilities to solely take and make
Then surely we can’t then resemble God here
With our divers capabilities here and there
Certainly we do not see that image of His
In our hugely depleted mental capabilities
Then there’s Justice not being same as fairness
Man gets it all wrong and in a very huge mess
Man merely is egoistic and Grace isn’t human
Who is only as good as his word like man?
The likeness here too is blur and all none
God’s monopoly dominates here too, all alone
This image, is it then compassion or apathy?
Could be faith, truth, love, humility or sympathy
Here too in fits and starts man grinds to a halt
Sieving grains his scales retains the shaft
And the God advocated Greek agape love;
He abuses, confuses, misuses, diffuses to solve.
In giving its all, to find it all; love is deepest
Unconditionally compassionate, patient at best
Unselfishly forgiving, indiscriminately generous
To trust this image in man is surely dangerous
Then what is this image to which man so likens;
God-like yet human when raw till he ripens.
Man has choice like all living fauna do
But it is all he has and allowed old as new
Life is definitely the wonder that is common
In one huge miracle of creation God summon
His likeness made man’s trinity transcend age
Life, soul, conscience is this transparent image.
As constant as the northern star,
Glowing close but won’t be reached.
It is not only guests from a far
A household betrayed and ditched.
Beware the Ides of March
Ringing like bells in Rome.
Inherit, merit or yet search,
Either way it all ends at home.
What name is born not to die?
Praise sang so close, steps are silent.
As to bury and forget drew by,
What’s to be or not to be are learnt.
Some slaughtered sheep are mourned,
Insignificant a life as they had had.
Their wives did not dream or warned,
Their lust did not make their ears hard.
Give unto him what is his,
Is his proud face not on it?
Off a gigantic face, stars are a piece.
Like all had and will, they return their bit.
The words mouths say not
Are alive within and about.
Thought is first of all itself;
Certainly, initially it is safe.
The evident risk in freedom
Is as criminal as is boredom.
In these our unending quests,
Cost unveils their own beasts.
Their hunger feeds or burst,
They live off needs and lust.
Their prayers edge into skies,
Barren with doubts and lies.
In the game life plays us
We know who is at a loss.
Momentary gasp for breath
Akins grasp of life by death.
The only failure story told
Is solely told new as old;
Man seeks profit to excel,
Falls again because he fell.
In perfection man will fall,
It is only because after all;
The nature of man is rude,
It is so, so hard to be good.
With dunes like empty breasts,
The victim is her own lost foe.
Agony as sorrow is her guests’,
For in her womb no one sow;
Surely the land is made a whore.