The Maven Of Yore Poem by Ankit Agarwal

Born in the month of October was a boy,

Preordained to be ineloquent and coy.



May be it was because of his name which meant inscriptions,

Or due to his own convictions,

May be because it was a popular mystique,

But surely it had nothing to do with his physique!



Whatever may have been the cause and howsoever may have been the dose,

The Cupid has been cruel and Murphy has not shown any mercy.

Existence is all what presently it seems,

And living and exploring are still distant dreams.

Neither will he die nor will he desist,

He will only cease to exist.



Ardent and agile was his very nature,

And as the time elapsed he garnered fascination in science and literature.



Died has the scientist,

Died has his literature,

For catapulted was he in a place not suited for any of his feature.



Don’t know if it was an insti or a fare,

But surely none of the instructors was less than a malware.

Every module of the version would they rigorously test,

Doesn’t matter whosoever falls in their wily nest.



Albeit I listlessly continue to tumble & fumble & stumble,

The search for the maven that existed of yore will never crumble.