1 God – Poems on God , Creator – Volume 4 by Nikhil Parekh - HTML preview

34. DON’T MAKE ME

Don’t make me taller than the clouds; protruding my head above realms of infinite infinity,

That I became oblivious to my fellow compatriots on earth; had to bend beyond limits of  comprehension; to walk abreast their benevolent countenances.

Don’t make me fairer than white ice; with an unfathomably glorious aura radiating profusely from my flesh,

That I miserably dwindled to recognize those with the slightest tinge of black around me; shrugged my nose in disdain towards the realistic forms of humanity.

Don’t make me more ferocious than the fires swirling towards the cosmos; charring everything in tangible atmosphere to inconspicuous bits of threadbare ash,

That I ruthlessly swept past my comrades in inexplicable pain; uncouthly forgot to commiserate with even those; who were solely instrumental for my existence.

Don’t make me more mystical than the chapter of existence; entrenched by waves of stupendously alluring enigma,

That I didn’t understand the hearts of innocent children; overruling them with my torrential downpour of intriguing intricacies.

Don’t make me more invincible than the divine; instilling in me the unprecedented power of conquering every iota of this fathomless planet,

That I started to condemn those frolicking in the lap of their mothers; the very celestial shrine of sacrosanct essence; wherein I had spent my entire childhood.

Don’t make me more prudent than the Sun; possessing even the most infinitesimal bit of knowledge loitering on this planet,

That I basked in the overwhelming glory of my memory; feeling it worthless to disseminate the same to my fellow mates in profound despair.

Don’t make me more cool than gargantuan avalanches of snow; inundating my soul with a mountain of gratifying peace,

That I was simply unable to comprehend the whirlwind of insurmountable agony besieging my loved ones; thoroughly nonplussed by the tragic disasters which unleashed; right before my eyes.

Don’t make me more fragrant than the most scarlet of roses; deluging my persona with magnanimous scent and voluptuously exotic spray,

That I diabolically kicked every fruit and flower that confronted me in my way; trampled mother nature under my bohemian feet; instead of blending in its mesmerizing lap for centuries immemorial.

Don’t make me more wealthy than the entire treasury of this Universe; triggering my pockets to explode with an unbelievable flurry of gold and shimmering silver,

That I relinquished even the tiniest trace of effort from within my veins; slept like a demon whilst my brothers and sisters; bathed in an unrelenting tornado of pain.

And don’t make me more satisfied than the angels O! Lord; overwhelming my lap with all the riches of this planet; even before I found my breath to utter them coherently,

That I didn’t feel the slightest need to discover the beautiful gift of love in life; spent countless lifetimes like a dreadful corpse; even after possessing infinite arms; legs and hearts.