The man who flew

Posted by in best, poem



There was once a man,
a thirsty man to boot.
He had always, in his head, a plan,
one you could never uproot.

A man who laughed at others,
for their unthinking conformity.
One untouched by their flutters,
Ironclad in his solidarity.

For he believed in himself,
the one who didn’t deceive.
And on a plan for oneself,
sneers are greatly received.

He began as one among millions,
just a face lost amongst others.
But twas’ not his wont to be a pillion,
and slowly he rose from the gutters.

Calmly but surely, step by step,
he crawled and caught many eyes.
Struggling alone, without any help,
he became the lotus among flies.

For the truly creative cannot be hid,
It will always shine on through.
The river cannot be stemmed by a lid,
No matter how much you hew.

He shocked all with his promises,
Improbable as they seemed.
He asked for trust in his offices,
And he would fulfill all they’d dreamed.

For the world was not white, black and gray,
It was bursting with colours to him.
And their monochrome minds could not allay,
How he bent the world to his whim.

He won in the end when the victors were crowned,
For few were as deft as him.
With his win, around him they thronged,
And by her was he seen.



A woman of mesmerising beauty,
She instantly became his muse.
Enchanted, he swore fealty,
With the only one who could enthuse.

Her smile entrapped him,
and he forgot the world.
After winning in his work,
he chose to win over this girl.

He spent his time with her,
both locked away together.
In this world their soft murmurs,
washed away other flavours.

His conquestin’ nature enfeebled,
for his attentions were now spread.
And his vast energies trembled,
for to this enchanting beauty twere’ fed.

Such romance was never felt,
as he harked in his bosom now.
He felt his strong heart melt,
and a smile upon his brow.

Together they did many a start,
fulfilling all their whims;
For he could never get enough of her heart,
and she could never get enough of him.

Their wedding was much talked about,
a grand occasion, and gay.
Many an attendee did exclain,
“They look happy now, don’t they?”

With a new emotion his heart burnt,
Ignoring all his known laws.
For the first time in his life he learnt,
what happiness truly was.



We leave our couple here Reader,
For bliss while good is tiring.
Cut to plenty of years later,
In their house what was this rising?

A married man, paled by age,
The struggling intensity lost.
A wife who had lost her entourage,
As against the years she fought.

Routine had mechanized them,
Boredom never gave up it’s onslaught.
Slowly losing its sheen did this gem,
Mark the present as a blot.

Turning towards those he had ignored,
He begged for resuscitation.
And because he was bored,
He drifted away to self-brought isolation.

There she came to him upon a waking dream,
Carrying him away on her wings.
Her form, all which he could glean,
Perfection greater than all things.

An angel or some vision,
He couldn’t discern.
All he felt was an interest arisen,
And so his sense he adjourned.

A land far away was he taken to,
Where time held no meaning.
Space had restrictions few,
And he felt as if he was dreaming.

Wonders were heaped upon wonders,
Creatures unseen by any.
He played with magnificient thunder,
While riding a griffin with Marc Antony.

Jumping off his ride,
What did he see?
Off far to his side,
A river full of memory?

A river twas’ of the waters of time,
And so he swam upstream.
Through the history of the world he climbed,
Unravelling all twisted schemes.

Right upto the source he swam,
And came to the final prize;
A place entered with a slam!
Nothingness of unbeknowst size.

And it was in a very, very long time;
That he had felt this.
This was a known clime;
The calm before battle’s bliss.



He floated around in the perfect silence,
A babe in his mother’s womb.
Till it seems he ran out of license;
And reality crept in like his doom.

His eyes opened wide,
Bloodshot to the view;
The world at large,
Was thrown askew.

He glanced around,
to an empty house.
Familiar environs,
But a deserted browse.

For he had lost his love;
his life in this haze.
As he prayed to gods above,
He realized his own caused blaze.

He thought back to,
his empty dream.
What sight he construed,
a hollow sheen.

And He realised as he came alive,
Sorrow is a more genuine emotion than happiness.
And homeless in his house he cried,
A broken man at final close.