Clay feet

 

Someone said to me

with pride, they're no fool

for good they are 

at spotting clay-feet

early on, their fate 

is so -

not to be befooled 

by a demi-god

unlike ordinary folk, who 

create and pay homage to

mere idol.

In humility I shrunk -

I've history of pain unvent

yet without repent 

even tho' I see the chink -

It's visible, 

neither blind nor deaf 

I am, I do listen

to harps that are sore

to ear,

I've tasted distaste before,

and, have felt damp in crevice

that attempts to hide

flaw in make of the idol

so very dear

still, I behold love

in all its decor and splendour

it bears testimony 

by Jove

to Unseen Presence

that when struck 

untuned chords in a barren heart,

orchestrated a beautiful symphony

at beck of Master's call,

isn't this enough 

to rest my case 

cast doubt aside

and find it a place 

of honour on the high 

for I'm duty bound

to keep raised on pedestal,

the bareness of feet of clay

unveils seat of miracle 

in ordinary every day

I witness

beauty of Creator's play

and bow, in awe 

I offer

my sajda of surrender;

for I know my idol  

is a gift

it's work of the Supremo.

In layman lingo

He's referred to

as God.