God, A Beast For Pride Poem by Manas Mukherjee

Sacrilege, on Elysium, plays her flute,
And pride, his pipe smokes, as counts the past:
With love, his sweet holy dispute;
That she fled to Zeus, and sheltered under his trust.

He ought to rise and fight, yet broods over tartarian souls,
On him hath her serene tune no harvest;
He unto death would still be a fool, yet be not that gallant troll;
Perchance hath he a heart, but would veil beneath the chest.

He had Hades' countless counsel stolen,
Knights of shades assembled many a night,
Yet marches not to abduct Heaven;
But wears a face lost, yet solemn and right,

As with a heavy heart and a white lovely robe clothed,
Mocks he by that resolute fire, over the greedy unholy toad.