The Truest King Poem by Nikhil Parekh

Just philandering through the unfathomably embellished interiors of the palace; doesn't make you even one iota of a prince at all,
He who might be breathing in an infinitesimally dingy hole; but yet obeying the principles of timelessly unequivocal and synergistic simplicity; epitomizes gloriously unparalleled kinghood; is indeed the truest king.

Just adorning your fingers with the costliest of rings and glittering diamonds of the earth; doesn't make you even one speck of a prince at all,
He who might be walking barefoot without even a roof to sequester his scalp; but yet beautifully bonding with every fraternity of living kind handsomely alike; epitomizes brilliantly insuperable kinghood; is indeed the truest king.

Just unrelentingly rolling through mountains of unsurpassable gold while nonchalant snores emanated from your mouth; doesn't make you even one whisker of
a prince at all,
He who might be wandering without a cloth on his uncontrollably shivering body; but yet kissing the sacrosanct soil which had pricelessly evolved him; epitomizes unshakably royal kinghood; is indeed the truest king.

Just endlessly partying in under waterfalls of the most opulent of wine; cavorting with the most emolliently tantalizing fairies on this earth; doesn't make you even one shadow of a prince at all,
He who might be without a mercurial morsel of food in his stomach; but yet altruistically offering every droplet of his blood to mitigate hedonistically tyrannized humanity; epitomizes unassailably peerless kinghood; is indeed the truest king.

Just uncontrollably massacring everything that came into your hands; at your own whimsically eccentric will; doesn't make you one impression of a prince at all,
He who might be profusely drenched in nothing but ordinarily colorless sweat all day and night; but yet holistically frolicking with and indefatigably admiring the panoramic treasures of Nature divine; epitomizes impregnably unflinching kinghood; is indeed the truest king.

Just fostering a cornucopia of the most sagaciously rarest literature in the world; unceasingly smoking the highest quality cigar in your library while countless slaved for you outside; doesn't make you one grain of a prince at all,
He who might be sporadically hurled in by the unsparingly violent sea tides; but yet harnessing each alphabet of his writing with the fragrance of unconquerably blissful truth; epitomizes triumphantly eternal kinghood; is indeed the truest king.

Just making the entire planet dance at the tips of your snobbishly sullen fingers; using disastrously nuclear and atomic power to its vindictive best; doesn't make you one breath of a prince at all,
He who might be inevitably nearing his dreaded corpse; but yet fervently working towards uniting the acrimoniously estranged planet into the religion of unbreakable humanity; epitomizes celestially effulgent kinghood; is indeed the truest king.

Just adorning your spurious skin with the earth's greatest perfumes; toasting to your feckless success while countless licked the squalidness of your anarchist shoe; doesn't make you one ingredient of a prince at all,
He who might be hoisting unimaginable tonnes of garbage on his head for indispensable survival; but yet compassionately parenting every infant dreadfully
orphaned on this globe; epitomizes wonderfully ebullient kinghood; is indeed the truest king.

Just inhaling the most sensuously untainted flowers in your palatial gardens for a second; and then making them the mincemeat of your toweringly decrepit feet;
doesn't make you one wink of a prince at all,
He who might be unstoppably bleeding under the attack of sadistically cannibalistic parasites; but yet ardently leaning forward to protect the divinely redolence of his selfless mother till his very last breath; epitomizes indomitably perpetual kinghood; is
indeed the truest king.

And just floating in the aisles of silken luxury for times immemorial; liberating the hideously entrapped sensuality in your body to the most unprecedented limits; doesn't make you one cranny of a prince at all,
He who might be truculently shattered to an infinite pieces by the disparagingly conventional society; but yet solely following the innermost tunes of his heart
and ubiquitously disseminating the spirit of immortal love in every organism alike; epitomizes fathomlessly perennial kinghood; is indeed the truest king.