M.D DINESH NAIR (9 -21 / Thrissur (Kerala) / Vijayawada (A.P) , India)
THE PAIN OF BEING GOD
It is a pain and not a pleasure, thee know not;
Being God and not being felt by thee all so.
I am the God of thy past and thy present
And helplessly of thy future too.
I came from nothing but am still the Lord of everything
And at times I wonder about my omnipresence.
I created a lot and thought of recreation next
And so I have left this world of thy concerns.
I cause drought and flood; famine and calamities
But I am faulted neither on Sundays nor on Fridays.
I bless the wicked and shower riches on the filthy rich,
But the righteous suffer and the have-nots starve to death.
I kill a few hundreds in a plane crash or a rail mishap.
With a few surviving I am thanked again!
I first send the demon of floods and then the angels of the Red Cross,
And the silent prayer of the soon-to die goes up in the air.
My past was full of passivity and penury, I recollect and
My present is full of activity and riches, I fear.
In the elusive be-wilderness of this universe
I continue to hide my head with palms stained!
At times I weep within for long
For I too have a large mind and a huge heart.
I regret about my creating spree and recreational excesses.
I know the error of being myself but I am composed yet!
I am waiting for a huge ball of fire or something like that to come
From somewhere spanning the material to the man
So that its flames may lick away my entity
And I may fade away into nothingness as of earlier.
A new earth and a new sky thenceforth shall be,
A new order of life that sans thoughts of me may rule high,
And a God of thy choice be created by thee.
Still spare me for my pains of being thy God till then.
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Has none attend to this piece or about the comfortable grudge against the demi-urge, for there is comment, none, herein to meet of lovers and the likes. O Poet! You didn't know this, but God, told, or through you, wrote. You may not well answer the author of this piece for you wrote it not of nothing yours, but an instinct, celestial. Don't get me wrong if I state thus that you may not be able to explain clearly, what you wrote hereof, or that you shouldn't assume righteous or above all, to have known the aches and ire of the Almighty. But above all, you did it! It shall be tagged yours.
O Poet! By the aforementioned critics, I play around nature to state your art, from the other world.
Run Long, Poet.
Regards,
Faeo.