The Perfect Man

O Nature! O Master Computer!
Your subject a Mother’s womb
With your facit machine you calculate
From a human mewl to a flush bloom.

Though most imperfect, one stands out
Whom Heaven and stars adorn
An exact calculation it may seem
A Perfect Man is born.

With face as pure as sunrise
And eyes as deep as sea
With voice as sweet as honey
His presence a Holy decree.

He grows up to be a leader
His muscles as strong as steel
His stature as though a mountain
Endowed with knowledge and zeal.

But Heaven witness the darkness
Giving birth to ego and pride
Being best and even better
The man in him almost had died.

He plundered, he slayed, he ravished
Corrupt, pervert and profane
He tempted, he mislead with his charm
Rendered Them nothing but pain.

O Nature! O Master Computer!
Is this your master plan?
Every man yearns and prays
To be an inch of The Perfect Man.

Your acts, O Perfect Man!
Were not contrived by Thee
If what you embody be perfect
Miscalculations rather perfect would be.