Ode to the Son

Poet: Ashwin Shankar

At the break of dawn,

You rise;

Radiating a certain profound brilliance,

You ascend.

Although straight up

Is the way you go;

There is an ever-present tilt—

An axial shift in your stance.

As concurred by many,

You are a bringer of joy.

Even with just happiness as a reason,

You play a major role.

On days with thick cloud cover,

For some the sight is an eyesore.

And when the skies are trimmed,

You show yourself much more.

Depending on time and place,

Varied appears your size.

The angle of observance,

Tends to play with the eyes.

A bringer of life

You are to man;

And a bringer of life

You are to many more.

In every religion or culture

You have a different name;

In some you are respected,

In some you are shamed.

What you are called,

Depends on what each man is.

For a historian, a phallus;

And for a scientist, a penis.

Whether you are the son of man,

Or man is the son of you;

Is a paradox of life,

That not many can construe.

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