Perfection

This poem is based on the theory of the four humors. It states that the human body is made up of four humors or liquids, namely blood, yellow bile, black bile and phlegm. These are also known as the four seasons- spring, summer, autumn and winter respectively or also as the four basic elements of life- air, fire, earth and water respectively. As per this theory, the perfect man is one who has a perfect balance of these four humors. Excess of any one humor gives rise to a particular quality. For example, excess of fire or yellow bile results in one having a short temper, anger and pride. The qualities attributed to the four elements are:

air- courage, hope, sanguine
fire- bad temper, anger, pride, choleric
earth- hopelessness, irritability, melancholic
water- calmness, unemotional, rational

Now that you have got the background of the poem, here it is:

Perfection

In the hall of creation
Stood the four humors,
Called upon by God,
All eyes upon his divine form.

Fire, ablaze in pride,
Cheeks red and teeth clenched;
Water, patiently waiting on,
Eyes in blankness drenched;


Earth, tapping his feet,
And muttering out of annoyance;
Air, denying all fears,
Hopes crossing the fence.

Then spake the Almighty,
After scanning his subordinates,
“Oh, mankind’s four different seasons,
I have summoned you for important reasons.


With a desire to create a rarity,
Looking up to you all for clarity:
I want to bring into being
The most perfect and impeccable being.

For this Herculean task,
Sounding, but not actually infeasible,
I want you’ll, the four humors of man,
To form the perfectest proportion that you can”.

The yellow bile burst into flames,
“I am the most integral of us all”,
In anger and pride seething,
His two eyebrows almost meeting.

Spoke the black bile, as bare as autumn,
With the chillness of failure in his heart,
“I fear this will not work out”,
His mind full of doubt.

Said the hopeful and passionate blood,
Optimistic as he can be,
“We can make it happen if we do try”,
Sunshine beaming in his cry.

Said the phlegm to all of them,
Trying to bring in some reason,
“Let’s deal with it little at a time,
And we can squeeze out man’s grime.”

By the lack of coordination completely shaken,
Hopes shattered, by hopelessness taken,
God gave up in vain,
Leaving man to suffer his own pain.

Ruminating- ‘This meeting was meaningless,
Perfection is not for man a dress,
For one of these will reign more or less’,
Leaving the hall and man in their own mess.

- Bhoomika Agarwal