There was once this man,

Who was not.
He wasn’t what he was,
And he wasn’t what he thought.
What he thought was all
But true.
And the truth was as elusive as all else in his life.
There was confusion, yes,
But the lies in it were greater than what he knew to be true.
His confusion lied,
Just as much as him.
His verdict on mankind,
Was bitterness of a thousand old concepts living within.
His retort was the retort of the ages
Falling, unfailing,
On the deserving and the undeserving
Alike.
And it made him lonely,
Sitting alone on a rooftop somewhere.

– Shakya