How The Hell Can You Say? Poem by Nikhil Parekh

How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed mesmerizing empathy in your resplendently twinkling eyes?

How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed poignantly crimson blood in your exuberantly unflinching veins?

How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed unequivocally explicit voice in the chords of your enchantingly bountiful throat?

How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed robustly triumphant ardor in your gloriously magnanimous palms?

How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed an ingratiatingly heavenly charisma in your patriotically blazing stride?

How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed euphorically everlasting smiles upon your innocuously rubicund lips?

How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed rhapsodically vivacious charisma in your ebulliently cascading hair?

How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed unparalleled piquancy in each of your poignantly intricate senses?

How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed insatiably untamed whirlpools of spell binding fantasy; in even the most infinitesimal corridors of your ecstatically wandering brain?

How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed unparalleled muscle in your tenaciously resilient arms?

How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed indispensable morsels of food in your harmoniously bouncing and innocuous stomach?

How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed a cistern of tantalizingly enigmatic seduction on even the most diminutively obsolete step that you transgressed?

How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed an unconquerable wave of enlightening optimism in even the most inconspicuously insipid of your majestic reflection?
How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed an unsurpassable entrenchment of divinely sensitivity in the vicinity of your wonderfully intimate and amiable ears?

How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed an unshakable sky of benevolently scintillating humanity upon your intrepidly philanthropic shoulders?

How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed irrefutably unassailable truth in the walls of your Omnisciently priceless conscience?

How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed an unfathomable cloud of titillating sensuousness in even the most ethereal element
of your regale persona?

How the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had bestowed an Omnipotent waterfall of breath in your marvelously seductive and profoundly aristocratic nostrils?

And how the hell can you say that you were tired; as long as the Creator had
bestowed a perpetually invincible fountain of love; in the beats of your immortally palpitating heart?