Fake Godfather - Poem by Nikhil Parekh
For him I wasn't a passionate poet penning down thousands of lines of mystical poetry,
What he considered me was just an employee; relentlessly running in and out; through the doors of his bombastic office.
For him I wasn't the innocuous child wandering at will through the jungles,
What he considered me was just an embellished servant; attending to each of his clients with a big and ostentatiously false smile.
For him I wasn't the angel sipping milk delectably from mother cow,
What he considered me was just a hi-tech attendant; scrupulously sorting and arranging his plethora of computer files.
For him I wasn't the fantasy eye casting my shadow on every pretty damsel that I encountered on the streets,
What he considered me was a financial institution who could extract money from the uncouth world; dispense it judiciously to pacify even the tiniest of his demands.
For him I wasn't the angel who slept cozily for indefatigable number of hours on the silken couch,
What he considered me was just an electric paced machine barging through the door of his office at the crack of dawn; and before anyone else entered his empire.
For him I wasn't the philanderer gallivanting with brazen relish through the
What he considered me was just a physically fit and robust individual who could clamber and descend the stairs leading to his cabin umpteenth number of times.
For him I wasn't the carefree and reckless student bunking classroom with nonchalant ease to meet my beloved,
What he considered me was just a special insect; who buzzed incessantly around his visage; pretentiously praising him about things he had never committed.
For him I wasn't the impetuous youngster who spent every night drowned in gallons of intoxicating whisky dancing to the beats of vivacious music,
What he considered me was a professional with dynamic speech; the only man who could entertain his guests for weeks together on the glittering telephone.
For him I wasn't just the tiny kid playing boisterously with several other of my kind,
What he considered me was an audacious and gallant chested soldier; standing tall and domineering to protect his assets; opening the door of his car; every time he felt an urge to drive fast towards the valley of enchantment.
For him I wasn't the emperor of my dreams; sitting on the profusely jeweled throne,
What he considered me was just somebody who could spot and shrug off all the disdainful hair sticking to his shirt; evolve ingenious ideas to fetch him his emoluments for years to unveil.
For him I wasn't the maverick munching toffee and simultaneously writing love letters,
What he considered me was a perfect 'Butter Man'; adroitly convincing and polishing the shoes of his vast repertoire of alien customers.
For him I wasn't the mischievous teenager bursting into pools of uninhibited laughter every other second,
What he considered me was just a vibrant entity who wrote his International speech; cajoled his vain senses when he found himself encompassed by a state of inexplicable nervousness.
For him I wasn't the pampered boy feasting my eyes on a fathomless ensemble of ravishing fruits and curd,
What he considered me was just an executive who could prolifically travel all around the country; while he slept blissfully with the girl of his dreams; with nothing else except his snores to disturb him.
For him I wasn't a prince swimming in an ocean of pearls; tossing an armory of jewels like matchsticks in the air,
What he considered me was just an infinitesimal little banana; whose skin he could ruthlessly peel whenever he wanted; before savoring the entire fruit.
For him I wasn't the baby cuddling tightly to my mother's invincible lap; drifting off to blissful sleep as she sung mystical rhymes into my ear,
What he considered me was just a mature broker; intricately manipulating and shielding each of his shady and illegal deals.
For him I wasn't the adventurous crusader; profoundly admiring a blanket of voluptuous stars from the summit of the hill,
What he considered me was just an expert salesman; propagating the essence of his hollow ideals far and wide; standing dead straight as if struck by a hostile arrow; nodding my head boundless number of times to the faintest of whispers he uttered.
For him I wasn't God's vehement disciple; inexorably ringing the bells of the temple; wholesomely lost in the omnipotent aura of the Creator,
What he considered me was just an obnoxious table of reception; uttering hi, hello, sorry, thank you, all throughout the waking day and for some part of the
For him I wasn't my beloved's lover; enveloped intensely in the supremely volatile arms of her romance,
What he considered me was just a dirty solicitor; ever ready to fight every legal case of his; win every battle triumphantly in front of the judge.
For him I wasn't human at all; with feelings, desires; fantasies; emotions; passions.etc.,
What he considered me was just his chained employee; licking his feet in meek submission; executing all his Business deals to astronomical perfection.
As these were the things inevitable to be done; to get that pay cheque of mine at the end of every month; and of course till that time he could take the privilege of dominating me,
But mind you irrespective of my compulsion to exist; he would only for the time being remain my fake Godfather; but could never replace and was nowhere near even the minutest shadows of my adorable and omniscient Creator.
Comments about Fake Godfather by Nikhil Parekh
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe