Undeserving

Watch and Listen to a Reading of the Poem instead. 

 

Wreathe me not with a laurel worthy of
adorning the aureate Archer himself
or the peacock-throated saltating Destroyer!
I am a mortal, a mere one as well,
with wild dreams and a creative spark alright
but one who came after his proper time.
     
What else could I have been but a misfit,
a complete alien in the world today,
with so many shadows of the same God
fighting one another for mastery
of a caliphate or a promised land
or to secure the black gold from below?
     
What else could I have been but a rebel
or an outlaw in today’s societies,
with the multitude of wounds inflicted on
the face of the earth, carved with a child’s wit
and the Devil’s wickedness, to safeguard
the grand illusion of national pride?
     
With a million valleys cleft almost everyday,
each wider than those of the Mariner
and a billion fabricated lies to breed
violence and anarchy, what else could I have been
but a cruel Ice age, all encompassing
or annihilating all like a forest flame?
     
Or perhaps such a time will come again
(for History is famed to be repetitious),
when both the world and its inhabitants
will overcome the silly mutations
(mostly shortsighted amid a few that were gradual)
occurred in both their feeble bodies and minds,
during the second millennium, a mere fraction
of the span they have been on earth as humankind!
     
Though none of that would change a thing for me,
since then too I shall remain as undeserving
of any praise or compliment as I am now.
In fact, if my delirious predictions
are destined to be true, for coming way before
my due time I have reasons to pine even more!

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