THE FAULTLESS MAN

BENOY P.J

The image of the faultless man

Troubles me no end

An arrow of the tyrant’s eye

Shoots out from his stalk

The umpteen ways in which

His earthly frame

Tries to fit into the

Ready-made halo

Likewise puts me off.

The image of the perfect man

Tramples on his toe

A soft caress, a stolen kiss

A harsh retort, a bloom of fire

All that stifled life

Scars him no end.

He washes off his shadow

And sets out in glowing attire

But when he looks elsewhere

At others, or things

There his shadow rears its head

And he hates it like hell.

This man who hates his shadow

The mirror is empty when he looks

His speech is like a mark-less paper

Since in colours dark or blue

With which one do write a page

Or draws a line

He cannot proceed.

Born to truth in mother wisdom

He doesn’t still know

That to paint even white on white

You still need a shade.

The image of the perfect man

Tramples on his toe

The image of a faultless man

Troubles me no end.