A rocky and complex carbon structure,
That’s all I am under a cold scientific eye,
A mighty good investment-a magnate’s status figure,
For wooing his lady fair with all that money can
buy.

Well,well-there’s more to me than merely cliched
notions,
I am something as aged as Time himself-I am heritage,
From poor Caesar’s carnage to the Dow Jones’
temporary damnation,
For historians-better food for thought than any
mortal’s royal lineage.

Childhood in a part of Pangaea -which is now called South Africa,
After that geological rock’n’roll the Cro-Magnon-
turned-gentleman,
Turned my sooty dullness into an incandescent
Shangri-la,
In Bharat became a part of a Chola’s diadem.

Whisked away westward-turned into a pendant,
And God knows how many generations of countesses
had flaunted me,
But to be honest-the French revolution was heaven-
sent,
Bye-bye to the shallow and the fawning-ended up
with a revolutionary.

Found a friend in a peasant lad with a heart untaught,
Who took to me and understood the esoteric and
my white magic,
Right now in the Louvre-“contemporary” companions
I’ve got,
‘Tis midnight-the curator is winding up and his
stare is karmic.

Oh it is the same lad-I mean the same soul,
I haven’t been entwined with orgies and the
glitterati,
With the human spirit did I endure-playing a cosmic role,
I am a heritage not of the past but of eternity.