Cynic

Where in this world
Of baffled faces; pouring oil in eyes to alight a change
Must I a man of hollow cast
Should await;
To remain unchanged

For unlike Othello I listen
To old monks murmuring beyond the riverbank
Their hands joined to a common flame
And blind eyes closed to light
So all could see the same
But my hands are not stained with grease
Nor my feet grown in the shape of keys
For doors yonder where the sunlight’s thick
And a greener pasture the old monks seek

I am here amidst the fallen hands
In its wilderness once termed divine
What thought a meager man could grate
That an oracle wouldn’t deem a sign
Of a tragedy of our own device
Build by fallen hands, without a voice
To be interred cold beneath a veil
This seminal thought, that none may feel

Where in this world
Of baffled faces; pouring oil in eyes to alight a change
Must I a man of hollow cast
Should await;
To remain unchanged

17 thoughts on “Cynic”

  1. Oh, you GENIUS! πŸ‘πŸ”₯ I really am awestruck by how effortlessly your poem flows without losing the essence of this powerful theme! Nobody else but only you could pen it down so brilliantly!
    The second stanza is…spellbinding (I can’t think of a better word right now)!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, I search till I find an image that shares the sentiment and the theme of the poem. It is, I think, somewhat like food. One feeds the eyes first, and then other senses take over to savour it further.

      If it be of any help, I visit Unsplash for the pics

      Liked by 1 person

      1. That is what exactly happens! The image itself piques the interest of the reader, and your poems never disappoint so it indeed is a treat for us.
        On a lighter note, your secret is out now.πŸ˜‹

        I will check out Unsplash. Thank you. 😌

        Liked by 1 person

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