Imagination, a Boon and a Curse

Imagination… To a Buffalo is a bizarre aspect, Cause he cares not Who is going to taste his meat, Fried, Roasted or Grilled. To a Lion is a matter of mean Stance and low profile, As he hunts, mates and rules His domain on his will alone. To Flamingo is a disgrace, When comparing her voyage, The thousands of unfriendly miles Over the desolate seas. To Cuckoo is against her audacity; By tradition has her eggs hatched In cosy cage of a crow’s toil That demands not any repute. Even to a blind fish is Imagination an aspect inane , As waters, mud flats, river banks, Are blessings of food and shelter. A polar Bear or Eskimo dreams Not an absolute weather transition; From frozen white winter To a sweating sore summer. No mention of a Mango’s wish To taste like an Apple ever found In timeline, Nor vice versa, As nature in her rules is so sharp. Only Man is not done With What and Who He is. Something that subsides the Desires of an edgy heart, who Silently perching on idle seat is Mastering the art of imagination By browsing, posting and reviewing The fallacies and faculties of the Fascinating human factor; Which he considers a boon, But in fact is a curse insidious That lures him into the blank Voids of answerless questions And irrational interpretations.