The legend

He walked.
Distances shortened.
He fought.
Battles lengthened.
He cried.
Tears wouldn’t stop.
He died.
Quite unlike God.
He was reborn.
Not like the lord!
He was jeered.
He remained indifferent.
He was cheered.
Contribution insignificant.
He was asked for love.
He gave all he had.
He was asked to leave.
He left with nothing in hands.
He was asked to be a friend.
He was the best that could be.
He was hurt.
He was spat out.
He was spat at.
He rode.
His horse galloped.
He swore.
His promises were broke.
Nobody lied.
He shielded himself from the truth.
He aged.
And one day he realised;
he was an animal that was caged.
So he ran.
Until his legs gave away.
And he saw that day.
That he was never in the fray.
And so he stopped.
Just short of the finish line.
He sat down.
He lay down.
He closed his eyes.
He wept.
He finally slept.
He was a legend alright.
His story doesn’t seem right.
It’s non-linear.
Changes gear.
What’s the motif?
Eternal grief.

Shh… his legenary ride’s over.
Listening to Frampton pick a four leaf clover.

His legend is never spoken of.
But he was the master of his craft.
He was me.
He was you.


Varun Rajagopalan.