The Orphan Poem by Mahathi Mydavolu

That orphan loves an open opera.
A one-man play, He Himself acts and He
the audience. Umpteen times played and saw
but never tired of bland redundancy.

He likes the odds, plays Ram, the nonpareil
and Ravan too, the demon lewd. For change
plays Sita chaste, the virtues' facsimile
as well Helen, a love and vice melange.

A spiritual orgasm, I guess, He thus
enjoys...hence often slips into a trance.
...when toys become robots to start ruckus,
the Maya veils the worlds and devils dance.

But nothing entertains, Him too for long.
The curtain falls one day with doom's swan song.