Pique Poem by Praveen Kumar In Shobha Priya

0 mammoth pique, I do pick
And treat you with the vilest prick
To deflate your horny hauteur;
For, you make psyche seriously sick
And robs light by smothering soul's wick;
You, the worthy progenitor
Of the cauldron of inflated ego, you lick
Blood that flood while true talents click,
But, thereon you takeover by trick
And stick out vile horns, too quick.


You are the coborn of true talents,
But distorted, deformed, disturbingly deviant;
You are the black shadow of excellence, its bright light,
The couthie little spouse of rage's red rolls;
You sneak in thro' nooks and corners of the mind
And sweep the soul like a devastating wind
That uproots grace, topples peace and flashes rage;
You disturb the harmony inherent to the souls,
Riding on the false shadow of suspicions,
And jump the walls to crash on indiscretions.


Pique crumbles talents to insignificance,
Pique clouds all virtues to impotence;
Lustrous diamond is the soul untouched by it,
That shines and reshines thro' hard surface;
Pique is the smoke most poisonous inbred in man,
Pique is the deadly snake in wait to bite the first seen
To disgorge the poison from the system's sack;
Pique is a handicap, fatal infirmity of the mind,
Born of inadequacies, insecurities, imbalances of the self,
That drag life on the cusps of disaffections.