What use? ?

What use was my infinite coins; if there was none to
synergistically share them with me except my own
insanely decrepit self; when all that I truly needed
for quintessential existence; was just a singleton
chunk of them; everyday?

What use was my infinite happiness; if there was none
to triumphantly experience it with me except my own
truculently prejudiced self; when all that I truly
needed for holistic existence; was just a mercurial
trifle of it; everyday?

What use were my infinite clothes; if there was none
to convivially wear them with me except my own
disdainfully dastardly self; when all that I truly
needed for symbiotic existence; was just a tenacious
robe of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite castles; if there was none
to harmoniously live in them with me except my own
viciously trembling self; when all that I truly needed
for perspicacious existence; was just a robust abode
of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite victories; if there was none
to blazingly rejoice in them with me except my own
spuriously sanctimonious self; when all that I truly
needed for bountiful existence; was just an exuberant
handful of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite cars; if there was none to
euphorically enjoy them with me except my own
remorsefully fretting self; when all that I truly
needed for vibrant existence; was just an exhilarating
model of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite fantasies; if there was none
to fantastically admire them with me except my own
obnoxiously ghoulish self; when all that I truly
needed for scintillating existence; was just a
sensuous dream of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite watches; if there was none
to blissfully witness them with me except my own
pathetically decaying self; when all that I truly
needed for enamoring existence; was just a meticulous
dial of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite landscapes; if there was
none to celestially philander on them with me except
my own drearily morose self; when all that I truly
needed for heavenly existence; was just a
infinitesimal contour of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite flowers; if there was none
to ecstatically smell them with me except my own
lunatically zany self; when all that I truly needed
for priceless existence; was just a fragrant petal of
them; everyday?

What use were my infinite forests; if there was none
to mystically adventure in them with me expect my own
scurrilously withering self; when all that I truly
needed for effulgent existence; was just an
inconspicuous branch of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite accomplishments; if there
was none to wholeheartedly relish them with me except
my own nonchalantly indolent self; when all that I
truly needed for beautiful existence; was just an
articulate parcel of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite oceans; if there was none to
ebulliently swim in them with me except my own
treacherously lambasting self; when all that I truly
needed for voluptuous existence; was just an
undulating wave of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite memories; if there was none
to nostalgically relive them with me except my own
preposterously stinking self; when all that I truly
needed for sparkling existence; was just a fugitive
anecdote of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite Sun’s; if there was none to
unassailably dazzle in them with me except my own
barbarously brutal self; when all that I truly needed
for gregarious existence; was just a flamboyant ray of
them; everyday?

What use were my infinite clouds; if there was none to
compassionately bathe in them with me except my own
unforgivably goddamned self; when all that I truly
needed for sacred existence; was just an ephemeral
mist of them; everyday?

What use were my infinite hands; if there was none to
amiably intertwine with them except my own mordantly
penurious self; when all that I truly needed for
divinely existence; was just a few fingers of them;
everyday?

What use were my infinite breaths; if there was none
to timelessly coalesce with them except my own
obstinately constipated self; when all that I truly
needed for sustainable existence; was just a sparse
entrenchment of them; everyday?

And what use were my infinite hearts; if there was
none to immortally love them except my own satanically
devastating self; when all that I truly needed for
unconquerable existence; was just a pulsating beat of
them; everyday?

(c) (r) copyright- by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.