It is a holy mission to this holy soil
That unfortunately lies ripped and spoilt
Of vicious designs and their divisive orders.

All the frames that my eyes conjure
Happen to cover a rare picture
Of the sublime and ITS dimensions.

It is lofty to be of some rare orders
Which are dictated by flimsy terms
Of the fleeting and its transience.

The ones who beg by the street, and the other
On the ivory towers are of the same order.
All are missions of unique explorations.

Some see the purpose; some feign to be ignorant;
There are a few who make hardly anything out.
Still there is something common; the essence.

A mission back to the Union looks uneven to us:
What’s that which takes us this long to recognize
“Even spokes make the wheel perfect and smooth? ”

Some die, some breathe their last;
Some go behind the veil of time;
some turn into corpses and carcasses.

The mission is still on in the same vein.
Much before time and its relentless refrains
The mission to this Earth has been the same.

“Even spokes make the wheel perfect and smooth.”
Our missions are impossibles, if not unsuccessful.
for, their wheels are made of uneven spokes.

Jayaprakash Jayaprakash Panicker.

A. Jayaprakash Jayaprakash Panicker

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-mission-to-this-earth/