The Fault in Our Senses

(A/N: According to the picture above, begin from sight and go in the clockwise direction to understand the flow of the poem.)

The Lord up above gave us human texture,

And veins, nerves, arteries, a crazy mixture,

He formed a detailed human of a structure,

A body as pretty as a beautiful picture.

He gave us eyes to witness the globe,

And people dressed up in elegant robes,

We can see the bad side, with muck and dirt,

They can grasp every visual, they've got to be alert.

On the one hand, they notice the mascara and paint,

And the frowns and smiles that come unrestrained,

Where do these orbs have the power to look past?

The temporary visuals that do not outlast?

The babies cry shrilly, it rings in the ear,

A depressed soul shouts in anxious fear,

The sound of the joyous festivity travels,

As we shut our eyes, minute voices unravel.

Can we hear beyond the anxiety and woe?

Is it possible to listen to silence and more?

Can we hear more than the mere barking?

Of the wounded dog, in pain it's writhing.

Mom's delicious goodies reach the tongue,

Along with tears, from which our eyes stung,

How can this flesh taste the love she's plopped,

There's a flavour more than salt in those careless drops.

The hair on our skin stands up so high,

When it's touched by soft hands or the winds that sigh,

That outer skin is not deep enough,

It cannot touch the soul to make it less rough.

The sweet smell of freshly-mown grass,

The shampooed fragrance of the stranded mass,

The sacred aroma of the Hindu shrine,

The olfactory joys of the dark red wine.

The grass won't give you the smell of nature,

Now how can you sense the beauty of the creature?

The scent of religion and gods that arose,

Is too strong to be detected by the weak nose.

You see, God hasn't bestowed His perfection,

There's always scope for that slight correction,

Our senses are weak, they're falling apart,

To give them strength, use the brain and heart.

Yours poetically,

The Literary Artisan 💖