Mock Epic: The Hollow Ceremony Poem by ashok jadhav

Sing, O Clock, witness to the grand parade of emptiness,
Where Heroes—mortals draped in robes of ritual—march
Through ceremonies vast, solemn, and utterly hollow,
Mistaking action for virtue, pomp for honor.
Behold the Mortal, hands clasped, brow furrowed,
Repeating gestures ancient yet meaningless,
Bow after bow, nod after nod, phrase after phrase,
As if the motion alone might summon wisdom divine.
Candles flicker, incense curls, banners wave,
Yet beneath it all, hearts thump with distraction or hunger.
Allies nod in solemn complicity,
Some whisper doubts, most pretend piety,
While the Hero parades, self-assured, heroic,
Each step recorded in invisible annals of absurdity.
The Ceremony swells like a tide of sound,
Words pronounced with gravity worthy of Olympus,
Yet deeds remain unaltered, promises unkept,
And virtue, supposed offspring of ritual, slumbers quietly.
Even the Gods of Mockery look on, bemused,
Watching mortals strut as if shadows could be glory,
Motion mistaken for action, repetition for courage,
And applause given for spectacle rather than substance.
At last, the Mortal departs, head held high,
Believing honor gained, conscience cleansed,
Yet all around, the world continues, unchanged,
And the Hollow Ceremony joins the archives of legend absurd,
A monument to faith in form over function,
Gesture over essence, appearance over truth.
Thus ends the epic of Empty Rituals,
Where mortals elevate habit to heroism,
And every bow, chant, or flourish becomes immortal,
A satire of virtue, absurd yet undeniably grand.