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He rose not on wings of silence,
But engines forged in fire—
Steel dreams and starlit visions,
A man whom gods admire.

Elon, the Architect of Futures,
Builder of wheels and sky,
Touched the moon with fingers bare,
And taught machines to fly.

He tamed the pulse of lightning,
Made Mars a whispered name,
Challenged thrones of old decay,
And dared the gods of fame.

But greatness is a mirror,
That blinds when gazed too long.
The louder echoes of his voice
Have dulled his silent song.

He sought to win the rulers,
To dance on power’s stage,
But forgot what sages muttered
In every age-old page—

That loyalty is fleeting,
And crowns are made of sand,
And even Titans fall to dust
When truth slips through their hands.

He mocked the land that bore him,
With ego wide as skies,
Forgot the roots that held him firm—
The source from which he’d rise.

He thought his gold immortal,
That wealth could shield the soul,
But now the state's slow serpent
Creeps closer to its goal.

A proverb rides the river,
Where the crocodiles still reign:
“Mock not your muddy homeland
While knee-deep in the rain.”

So now, in public shadow,
Where vultures love to dine,
He learns that in true silence
Dwells the strongest spine.

Let the stars remember softly
The fire he once gave—
But let the wise take caution
From the path he could not brave.

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