Life = Death - Volume 6 - Poems on Life , Death by Nikhil Parekh - HTML preview

43. HUMAN GOD

He who recognizes the fertility of land; by mere caress of the strewn soil,

Smelling the scent emanating as he tramples the mud; is indeed a true farmer.

He who recognizes burglars; by simply looking straight in their eye,

Intricately reading their jugglery of body movement; complexion of their brutal face;

is a true policeman.

He who comprehends the arrival of a cyclonic storm; by the rise and fall of  

sea waves,

The turbulent clouds obliterating the stars; gusty draughts of wind blowing; is a true sailor.

He who can perceive the entire structure of the grandiloquent  building; without even

constructing it,

By articulately sketching its labyrinth of outlines; is a true architect.

He who can explicitly understand the disease of an individual; without asking him to divulge his lengthy background,

By innocuously touching his pulse; is a true doctor.

He who can confidently proclaim the denomination of a currency note; without seeing a trace of it with the eye,

By scrupulously feeling its texture; weighing its body; is a true businessman.

He who can write voraciously at all times of the day; without a luxurious ambience of rain and tropical forest,

Tumultuously exercising dormant arenas of his invincible brain; is a true writer.

He who can dive head on in the fathomless valley; bereft of a parachute strapped on his back,

Gleefully gliding down whispering sedately to the floating birds; is a true adventurer.

He who can fight the greatest of war without a sword; conquering the mightiest with

prowess of his speech,

Pacifying the most pugnacious by his benevolent ideas; is a true warrior.

He who spreads his entangled net in deep water; going abysmally far inside the sea,

Encountering acerbic waves and swirling storms; is a true fisherman.

He who sends the leather ball whistling past the fence; astronomical distances into the spectator stands; by the silken caress of his bat,

Running onerously on the field; bolstering the spirit of his team; is a true cricketer.

He who recites his dialogues without actually mugging them; speaking with  tremendous empathy in his eyes,

Blended with loads of charisma in his demeanor; an ingratiating ability to captivate audiences; is a true actor.

He who innovates a plethora of incredible formulae; without referring to the rules

and bulky manuscripts,

Adhering to ingenuous concepts nurtured in his brain; is a true scientist.

He who can sketch mesmerizing shades of nature; synchronized patterns of human beings,

Without actually getting a chance to confront them; with a mediocre looking pencil;

is a true artist.

He who can detect the problem in an automobile; by simply listening to the whirring of its engine,

Without peeping into its interior crevices; testing its spark; is a true mechanic.

He who can predict our future meticulously without knowing our date of birth; the

exact time we were born,

By simply glancing at our face; without reading the lines embossed in our palms; is a true astrologer.

And he who can understand pain and overwhelming affliction; intense anguish of the bereaved,

The tyranny of being mutilated; sleepless nights of the destitute without consuming adequate food; helping such people achieve their goals; is a true human GOD.