Have you heard of the man, <br />Who has all, yet nothing? <br />He scrapes through life <br />Seeing none and feeling none <br />But stones and thorns. <br />His eyes are blind <br />[Even with the latest varilux lens] <br />To the myrtles that embellish <br />His path, the roses <br />That lend fragrance to the sordid ways. <br />Oh, he has myrtles, he has the roses <br />But all he knows is the thorns and the stones. <br />Ask him; he is eloquent with harangue <br />On the stone and the thorn, <br />He’d say this day one pricked him, <br />And that, one tripped him, <br />He lost three drams of blood <br />With his temper he never found…. <br />He is meant to grace through life, <br />Tread soft on the myrtle and the rose, <br />But no, he prefers to scrape through it all. <br />Likes a harangue, for he thinks it manly. <br />To trip on stones, to step on thorns, <br />To shed three drams of blood, <br />Are a symbol of valour: Arjuna’s tribe. <br /> <br />Do we scorn at this man? <br />Do we pity, or pray, or prove him wrong? <br />Or do we laugh, or cheat ourselves <br />That one day, he’ll wake to his blessings? <br />I possess no answers, <br />But I do have a solution: <br />Accept the irony of it all <br />And stay away, far away, <br />From the man who has all, <br />But nothing.<br /><br />Krishnarasa Seshadri<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-man-who-has-all-yet-nothing/
