People come and go,
with genealogies spinning history,
Everything changes to survive,
Similarly, man becomes his opposite more.
Fast riding jockey he is,
Sticks to the saddle of time,
His horse trampling the turf,
And the cheers eating the dust around;
The ‘eagle’s eye’ spotting the winner
among the beasts riding the same,
Gallops match the applauds around
to cut the finishing line first.
Whoever may be the lucky one,
It’s nothing but simply
a line drawn over the last one,
And many parallels following.
What did the winner get?
Nothing but the smallest
glimpse of others doing the same;
Irony drips from the dusted moments,
Look, the victor ponders back the maximum,
Trickles which to zero
for the last one cutting across.
A trophy, a V-sign, a horse’s smile,
That is what they give him,
And some rest on the podium;
That is what life is,
Dropping every skill of ours
on the back of a beast
to carry us as a victor,
Half-man, half-beast,
we leave nothing but litter around;
Exhausted and throbbing hearts.
So much of the course is
trampled to death,
only for the thinnest line
connected by similar tangential lines;
With milestones of eulogy,
And battlefields in between,
This is what we call
history, progress and more.
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