The King Of Poetry

Even if you failed me in mathematics; giving me the lowest marks in the entire school; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all,

Even if you failed me while clambering the mountain slopes; making me stumble on the very first step itself; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all Even if you failed me while talking to colleagues; stuttering miserably on every word I spoke; It still wouldn’t
hurt me at all,

Even if you failed me in Business; making me incur losses worth millions of rupees; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all,

Even if you failed me in making my food; wherein all I managed to prepare was sooty charcoal from the fields laden with infinite vegetables; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all,

Even if you failed me in building a house of my own; with all bricks hurtling down towards me before I laid them; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all,

Even if you failed me in finding the most precious of my gifts; with the entire team of detectives I hired simply unable to trace them; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all,

Even if you failed me in the battlefield; with a river of blood diffusing rampantly from my skin; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all,

Even if you failed me while I was swimming; drowning me uncouthly for marathon hours before I reached the surface; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all,

Even if you failed me while leaping from the sky; with the strings of my parachute failing to unwind; and the bones of my body shattering into a million pieces; It
still wouldn’t hurt me at all,

Even if you failed me in my flirtatious activities; with scores of girls on the street ridiculing me; when infact I desperately wanted their friendship; It still wouldn’t
hurt me at all,

Even if you failed me in front of my parents; with them condemning my work as a lazy tribute to the soil; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all,

Even if you failed me at reaching office early everyday; with my tyre getting punctured midway although I started hours before time; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all,

Even if you failed me at snapping photographs; with people thrashing me black and blue for portraying them as decayed fruits; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all,

Even if you failed me at swallowing medicines; with every attempt of mine to gulp resulting in disastrously puking out the same; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all,

Even if you failed me in procuring my livelihood; with every attempt of mine to earn finding me placed in the beggars seat; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all,

Even if you failed me in wearing my own clothes; with my shirt inevitably getting torn the instant I tried to fit it over my shoulders; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all,

Even if you failed me while sleeping; jolting me off from my slumber every second with an armory of horrifying dreams; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all,

Even if you failed me in all quarters of life; making me despicably succumb and lick raw mud; It still wouldn’t hurt me at all,

And as I told you O! lord I wouldn’t mind it the least if you snatched away everything from me; failed me horrendously in every sphere of life; but please see to it that I kept writing poetry till the time I relinquished my last breath; make me the king of
poetry

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