Black stoned, concrete, figured
Made it eternal
Never to be faded from the memories
Flowered, garlanded, revered
Prayered, kowtowed, holidayed
And aeons, later nets of dust lingering
Walled, cracked, disfigured
None have time to stand and stare
Repay their quintessence
Of noblest opus
And emit a bleat of wrath
Title-tattle, zing, slur!
If such honourable honour to bigwigs
Then what respect does one bear of ordinary layman?
And their existence, needs, contributions?
Do we really need statutes?
To make the birth of a Mogul?
Or sow the seeds of benevolence, attrium, gratitude in the minds
For one and all!
Men
In general
And for the particular?
