Mani Vardhan

once lived a man,
life treated him with simple pleasure
and subtle movements
52 years old,
in his entirety of, he felt few things
one very strongly.
with purple feathers it fanned him
he was glad with glimpses,
never dared to walk towards.
else it would fly away
like a irrational mother, it treated him.
he resorted to it, in his times of noise.
it justified his incompitence in things
he pride himself with
one day, he put it on internet
people fucked him for it.
I wonder how he lived rest of his life
like a son with lust for his mothers breasts
he must have stared at it,
poor bastard