Man

By Salochana Devi

This creature — perfection in its crudest form, struts about like a peacock displaying his fine plume of Brain, Body and Brawn.

Oh, but with n his flimsy-feathered-form, he knows he stinks like puke.

E'en worse, he thinks he can cleanse this filth embedded within him.

So, he prays in church on Sundays convinced of Forgiveness and Redemption.

But alas, his encasement of dirt is cancerous; it eats it gnaws the depths of his very soul.

Till like a man condemned, his conscience freezes and lets the virus within him overwhelm and strangle him.