The Man Died

Silence,

a minute silence for the passing din

and attest to the sounds of treachery

For if by fated defeat

the end appeared

as a fatal crashing of an untamed car,

an impetuous slip on a sloppy sand

or as a winged balloon overwhelmed by heaven’s wind,

a funeral for every defeat is deserving

But the man died

with hanging hands outstretched to God:

they grappled to stay afloat,

with languid legs longitudes apart:

they labored for antidote

and with eyes open wide

to lose not sight of the world of men

that watched inertly beneath a long old bridge

and with photo'd sympathy shared: a soul sinks.

With all social exclamations,

by all media lamentations

of lame and latent innuendos

the man died -

a casualty of nascent uprising

between tech craze and reasoning

in the land of 21st century women and men.