Is it a folly to be ever sublime?
Have I been patient beyond my time?
Do the nine choirs understand
that I see, dissipate, my promised land?
Was it a mirage? An illusory concierge?
Did I not walk the eternal desert, forgetting my urge?
Even manna doesn’t drop from the skies
Tell me, O Supreme (!) before all my strength and will dries
You’d think I can believe in my Sarah
when, under duress, she happens to be Delilah
And I know the fish is not my star
And neither is the ever-looming Allah!
Do you think I can die suffering the overwhelming lie?
Am I compelled to my eternal sacrifice bid bye
You have called my eternal sacrifice my beauty
Then how come it is Prakash Saint Paul’s treachery that capitalises on my duty?
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