The Coward One

Not a lion's roar, not an eagle's eye           

Feet on ground, never did he fly

Sinew-shroud, sun-dried

Soul in skeleton, not a tower-high

Mortal, mushy, newly naive

He felt, he pained, he could cry

Neither a Noah, never a Christ

He was just another guy.

Alone was he, in an alien land

Tricksters talked, pomp and grand

So scared; mum he would stand

Hypocrites howled, forked and fanged

Fakes flared, burning his hand.

Eyed him the evil, hungry and glad

And there he lay, lone and bland

Petrified by the phony,

Had died the poor lad.

 

I now wonder what he did

Or what he did not

That got him killed.

Those showy strands

He could never put on

Those cheesy chairs

He could never fit in

Those malicious melodies

He could never dance on

Those baleful breaths

He could never take in.

Just that, every bit

His lips synched his heart.

Spoke straight

Be it dumb or smart.

Could identify

An art or a shard 

Thought little

And he would laugh.

Only if he knew a knack

He would be on top of stack

Only if he had a mask

Would have served the task

Alas! He never could find one

And so, never did a man moan

The fate that betide the coward one.