On a keyboard, typing a wave of words,
Undulated expression, stealthily moving
Along a nexus between thought and expression
Of a poem in the making, that like life
Is a fate-blossomed episode. When born
They become our gifts to mankind, fickle offerings
Of our time on this planet, our legacies,
Those staying-prone alibis of time,
Our testimonies that we were not
Merely custodians, but landscape artists
Who sculpted the topography of providence
Into the blissful harmony of words, and hung
Them on an arras of parchment,
From where they became their own prints
In their transposition from mythology
To a work of abstraction, which
When molested by eye, gives legitimacy
To beauty, to divide and conquer.
