What Use ? Poem by Nikhil Parekh

What use was my infinite coins; if there was none to synergistically share them with me except my own insanely decrepit self; when all that I truly needed for quintessential existence; was just a singleton chunk of them; everyday?

What use was my infinite happiness; if there was none to triumphantly experience it with me except my own prejudiced self; when all that I truly needed for holistic existence; was just a mercurial trifle of it; everyday?

What use were my infinite clothes; if there was none to convivially wear them with me except my own disdainfully dastardly self; when all that I truly needed for symbiotic existence; was just a tenacious robe of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite castles; if there was none to harmoniously live in them with me except my own viciously trembling self; when all that I truly needed
for perspicacious existence; was just a robust abode of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite victories; if there was none to blazingly rejoice in them with me except my own spuriously sanctimonious self; when all that I truly
needed for bountiful existence; was just an exuberant handful of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite cars; if there was none to euphorically enjoy them with me except my own remorsefully fretting self; when all that I truly needed for vibrant existence; was just an exhilarating model of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite fantasies; if there was none to fantastically admire them with me except my own obnoxiously ghoulish self; when all that I truly needed for scintillating existence; was just a sensuous dream of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite watches; if there was none to blissfully witness them with me except my own pathetically decaying self; when all that I truly needed for enamoring existence; was just a meticulous dial of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite landscapes; if there was none to celestially philander on them with me except my own drearily morose self; when all that I truly needed for heavenly existence; was just a infinitesimal contour of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite flowers; if there was none to ecstatically smell them with me except my own lunatically zany self; when all that I truly needed for priceless existence; was just a fragrant petal of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite forests; if there was none to mystically adventure in them with me expect my own scurrilously withering self; when all that I truly needed for effulgent existence; was just an inconspicuous branch of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite accomplishments; if there was none to wholeheartedly relish them with me except my own nonchalantly indolent self; when all that I
truly needed for beautiful existence; was just an articulate parcel of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite oceans; if there was none to ebulliently swim in them with me except my own treacherously lambasting self; when all that I truly needed for voluptuous existence; was just an undulating wave of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite memories; if there was none to nostalgically relive them with me except my own preposterously stinking self; when all that I truly needed for sparkling existence; was just a fugitive anecdote of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite Sun's; if there was none to unassailably dazzle in them with me except my own barbarously brutal self; when all that I truly needed for gregarious existence; was just a flamboyant ray of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite clouds; if there was none to compassionately bathe in them with me except my own unforgivably goddamned self; when all that I truly
needed for sacred existence; was just an ephemeral mist of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite hands; if there was none to amiably intertwine with them except my own mordantly penurious self; when all that I truly needed for divinely existence; was just a few fingers of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite breaths; if there was none to timelessly coalesce with them except my own obstinately constipated self; when all that I truly needed for sustainable existence; was just a sparse entrenchment of them; everyday?

And what use were my infinite hearts; if there was none to immortally love them except my own satanically devastating self; when all that I truly needed for unconquerable existence; was just a pulsating beat of them; everyday?