An Infinite Times Better Poem by Nikhil Parekh

Even the most parsimoniously slavering form of light; is an infinite times better than the endlessly ghoulish mortuary of treacherously asphyxiating darkness,

Even the most infinitesimally diminutive form of strength; is an infinite times better than the endless coffins of remorsefully decrepit fear,

Even the most inconspicuously ethereal form of water; is an infinite times better than the endlessly crucifying and barbarously sweltering sand of the desert,

Even the most nimbly mercurial form of vivaciousness; is an infinite times better than the endlessly ghastly jungles of concretely unemotional monotony,

Even the most fugitively nonchalant form of literacy; is an infinite times better than the endlessly dolorous well of ignominiously lambasting unemployment,

Even the most inconspicuously disappearing form of happiness; is an infinite times better than the endlessly hopeless dungeon of inexplicably besmirched sadness,

Even the most ephemerally silent form of faithfulness; is an infinite times better than the endlessly salacious road to vindictively vituperative betrayal,

Even the most inanely tiny form of dwelling; is an infinite times better than the endlessly whiplashed body aimlessly sauntering on boundless kilometers of lackadaisical mud,

Even the most moderately stingy form of food; is an infinite times better than the endlessly devastating battlefield of baselessly torturous and brutally incarcerating hunger,

Even the most evanescently measly form of fruit; is an infinite times better than the endlessly crucifying gallows of disastrously wretched impotency,

Even the most frugally abstemious form of speech; is an infinite times better than the endlessly obsolete mist of acrimoniously orphaned and preposterously wanton dumbness,

Even the most transiently small form of selflessness; is an infinite times better than the endlessly prejudiced ghosttown of salaciously parasitic greed,

Even the most minutely petite form of compassion; is an infinite times better than the endlessly bereaved icicles of frigidly obfuscated and lugubriously shriveled nothingness,
Even the most prematurely microscopic form of artistry; is an infinite times better than the endlessly tyrannized jail of cold-bloodedly massacring and indiscriminately obnoxious debauchery,

Even the most truncatedly miniature form of honesty; is an infinite times better than the endlessly horrifying apocalypses of flagrantly sordid lies,

Even the most rarely measured forms of humanity; are an infinite times better than the endlessly dogmatic tunnel of rampantly blood-sucking crime,

Even the most fadingly teeny forms of wisdom; are an infinite times better than the endlessly unsolicited feces of lecherously wastrel foolishness,

Even the most restrictedly Spartan form of love; is an infinite times better than the endlessly pulverizing hell of abhorrently malicious and acridly hedonistic betrayal,

Even the most rapidly disappearing form of enchantment; is an infinite times better than the endlessly squelching maelstrom of deliriously pugnacious loneliness,

And even the most laconically wrinkled form of life; is an infinite times better than the endlessly scurrilous and torturously exonerating noose of mercilessly
demeaning death.