The Carving: Soapbox Recluse

As we strolled round and round in Serengeti’s wilderness,

Encircling our view had all smothered in green lay with little difference;

Under a tree, oh we saw the odd we looked way and way longing for,

A grotesque yet a wrecked beauty statue of a sage, with his mud hair, played tug of war.

Could that be of a well read chap long ago,

But, alas, his charmer imitation was rotting under the weather’s flow;

Perhaps, his devotees must have worshipped the soapbox recluse,

For they built this stunner, but what value does it savour, ages and ages ahead today, I deduce.

Once he might have been all alone,

With a splendourous visage and an enlightened soul;

He might be another Bible, knew all the secrets of survival, 

And educating thousands of disciples;

Now, he is all alone, only a piece of stone,

Crying, but the tears can't flow, he is pitying on his own;

Oh, he is remembering all those joyful days,

Wondering if he could ever be the same;

No, he himself knew, the destiny is set,

Now, he is just a piece of stone which everyone neglects.