Arithmetic To Your Mathematics Poem by Hardik Vaidya

All men+women were born equal.
Factual, not spiritual, neither political.
It isn't the lie of the century, nor that of Humanity.
I stand in front of you young Turks, to prove this without more fuss.
Jumps a young mustard, with mind full of young blizzards,
Lunges at my old jugular, and challenges my bloated ego and its fissures.
If that were the case, Beethoven would not have been rare,
And I, you and the world would not have been scared,
Of the man who sits right next.
Whoa I cried young man, I am delighted,
Your spirit ignited in me the mind that was once obsessed,
To ride a wild filly, with wanton joy and mirth,
And with her go clip clopping into the vales which were yet to take birth.
Now let us assume for the sake of simplicity,
All men+women are born equal and let us number them each at 1.
Let us also pardon the vulgar beauty and assume 100 is the foretold logic of perfection.
How would we reach it? Go and seek a 99 to add to our miserable 1 and get mundane perfection.
The art of mathematics is my dear far more sublime,
Than what our bean counters behind the tills would ever wake up to realise.
The beauty is not about 99, and if you are a silly cricket fan, god bless your sorrow tan.
Look at the wonderful Zero, not Zorro, my sexy Spanish student lass,
Zeroes is all I ask, each one of us is born with an infinite number of those blasts.
And then look at the Decimal blob.
Lift it, nudge it to the right, you grow by 10's every single step,
And that my dear is the difference between Arithmetic and Mathematics.