Mr. Willy Will - Poem by Vishal Singh
Stout and haughty Mr. Willy Will,
Erroneously thought he had the Supreme Will,
For, time and again he had defied, ‘His' Will.
Carrying on his bloated shoulders the head of a Devil,
He mistook his ephemeral successes as the fruition of his skill,
Often being disdainful of ‘His' Will.
Charged and laden with his fluke will,
Willy promised his generations a mammoth will,
And set out on a voyage up the hill.
Up the hill, he decided of setting a cotton mill,
Having decided, Willy went for the kill,
And hired the pitiable hill-men to do the till.
The honest hill-men toiled, as subjected to a military drill,
Ploughing the rough terrain, braving the winter chill,
And when the plants bore the best harvest, the hill-men demanded their fill.
But the devil he was, he denied them of their fill,
Leaving them embittered and in abject peril,
For, of money, he gave them nil.
He mocked them and robbed them of their skill,
Willy said, "You silly creatures, if it hadn't been for my will,
This piece of Earth would forever have been a forlorn hill."
He added, "But since the bales are in the mill,
Each of you can have a shroud from the yarn of the mill,
But that too, not without paying the bill."
All this was noticed by someone over and above the hill,
He finally thought, it's time to teach Mr. Will,
Who's the one with the Supreme Will.
Soon Willy fell mysteriously ill,
He tried and tested each and every pill,
But couldn't find an end to his ill.
He sold off his dearly cotton mill,
Spent every penny of his mammoth will,
But couldn't put an end to his ill.
The pauper he had become, in overpowering the Supreme Will,
He couldn't afford a shroud, from his own cotton mill,
For he had to pay the bill
But of money, he had nil.
Still, the honest hill-men buried him on their hill,
Guarded his grave with a beautiful little grill,
And engraved an epitaph which read, "Poor Mr. Willy Will,
Who thought, he possessed the Supreme Will! "
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