People in all professions look for it
and work to get it and, as they mature in years,
they come to understand it
is some very strange bird to
catch and call their own, for
they see in its winged flight
it like the summer desert’s
mirage of hope run apace,
leaving the person seeking
for it, still trying and finding
to utter surprise more is to
be put in for more of what,
in terms of perfection, the
wide world outside there
calls efficiency, and working
harder and with vigour, and
focus on giving more than
that demanded or desired
till the spirit goes and the
stamina, strength, patience
to pursue matters draw to
an abrupt halt and, out of the
same stage of garlanding
and awards and certificates
and clappings and loud
applause there the hero,
of decades of achievement
with bent head and lowered
looks in heaviness of heart,
bows out when others with
the baton to prove their
mettle with lust for the lost
lustre, go running the relay
race of the chimera of skill
and competence that the
broad competitive world
of work with pride calls
efficiency of the mighty
and not the frail.
