God, he is called
With the features of his name in reverse.
Adorations accompanied with success are ascribed to him.
Libation indebted to him.
Though called my architect and that of likes,
He remains a simulation in me.
This illusion I sight as a cord
Linking tumult among pitchers of different verses.
With this engulfed in him, he remains sung like a hymn
By pitchers of narrow inlets with different hymns.
This promise-lands to dislike
Amidst pitchers of diverse philosophy.
This illusive fiction depicts bully
That gets all man's achievement attributed to himself alone.
An epitome of egocentrism he is.
Bereft of trouble shooting.
If needs be for such entity instantaneously,
I, myself and me it will be in lone
With solution to manly caused conundrums by no edifice.
I will be my own dog.
This illusive fiction depicts bully That gets all man's achievement attributed to itself alone. An epitome of egocentrism it is. Bereft of trouble shooting. - - - well written, thanks
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like your poem - with one exception. God is not an it. I repsectfully ask that you edit the poem, changing the second line to: With the features of His name in reverse. Thanks for sharing.