Devarajah

Nothing much sadder, really,
Then the habit of crowning
Kings as deities. Small gods

Indeed, who eat, shit, and breathe,
Who suffer from infections
Of commoner’s diseases.

Is all pretense defiance
Of obvious facts of life?
Must it be? Can’t fantasy

Sometimes manage what isn’t
As isn’t, without wanting
To be only what can’t be?

And why think other humans
Could determine deity
In you by acclamation?

Humans determine what is
And what isn’t important
For humans, but it doesn’t

Mean you have to distinguish
Amongst yourselves as among
Moons and planets vs. stars.

You’re not that different. You’re not
That defiant. You know you
Can’t be gods. Don’t you? Don’t you?