Children of An Angry Father

When primeval men were made, Someone said they were perfect, But I ask them how plausibly so Can perfection beget imperfection? They laughed and I laughed in return. Some others said they became selfish And sought independence from their maker, And rebelled against their irascible father. Normally, if you say nothing Nobody would ask you what you said, So I laughed and did not say anything. Some said they listened to a shape-shifting snake, Some said an enemy came at night And planted a rotten fruit-bearing tree Among the good trees in the garden. I believe them all and would believe even more, But they should believe me when I say: The world is not good a place to be. Just when we thought our nights are over Our sun became covered in perpetual eclipse. Life should not be imposed on man: He should be allowed to choose to be born or not. But unfortunately we have become; Leaves tossed and tossed By a simple wind in mid heaven; Like canoes adrift a barren coast, Whose oarsmen are blindfolded. The passengers in intangible laughter Could not recognize their seafront Nor could decipher their homestead Which has been overrun by pillagers from West! We are simply stirred hither and titter By the wave of a mighty sea, The sea men call life. But, it's not our fault that we came, Undressed, fragile and weak. While low self-esteem caresses our Calm brow in a conscious helplessness. The world is not good a place to be. Just when we thought our nights are over Our sun became covered in perpetual eclipse. When subsequent men were made It is so that they may find despair Lying in wait at their door steps. It is so that they may serve as food to death. Who dare say to my hearing that The gods do not kill people for fancy! Death is like hawk and men are chicks; It dives with its dastardly talons and red eyes At us, sometimes winning its prize, While our mother earth screams helplessly, Taking us into her eternal womb like bitter pills. Sometimes, when it goes back empty handed There is always a festival of praise Pending the next attack. When future men will be bred, I dare say, they'll stare death in the eyes, They'd not be scared. They'd say; "Death, if you come and did not see us, Know that we've gone ahead of you And are waiting at your door step. But if you'd not want to waste the time Coming to and fro for mere us, Wait in your house, when we're well spent And tired of this world, we'd come home and sleep".