A Man

Of what value is a man? Of what need is his birth into this earth? Of what… Well, to what end does a man’s identity affect the world? From the moment of his conception, a man is riddled in burden, to his self and to the world. He is constantly reminded of his need to be a man, of why his identity is more important, of why his purpose needs to be with intent and full of fire and zeal. A man faces an innate fight to remain sane and to beat all odds stacked against him.

A man needs to be strong. He draws his strength from a simple fact, he is owed nothing. He either stays afloat or he sinks. He has an inbred war, an outward disdain for weakness. A man must. Anything less and he is a meal for the weak, and he has a name – a failure. He knows nothing but toil. He faces himself in the mirror, a cracked sense of the weight of his responsibilities. He smiles as a fact, not as a right. The beads of sweat trickling from his forehead are an expression of his grit, an attribute he has, not needs, to survive. If he can’t sweat, he can’t eat. If he can’t eat, he can’t toil. But toil he must, for even when deprived of energy, he has to draw his strength from hope.

A man who is full is weak. He who is full of himself, thinks he is untouchable. He has to seek men of strength to protect his ego. He loses his basic instincts by abusing his privilege. He doesn’t sweat as a matter of fact, he does so because he is lazy and full. He doesn’t seek, he hides. He doesn’t provide, he keeps. His cause is deprived, that’s why he dallies in philanthropy. Not out of the urge to fill gaps of injustice, but to receive praise, to fill another gap in his ego. He goes ahead to create limitations through his enterprises, where his foundations find room to operate, and provide “solutions” his enterprises aren’t legally allowed to venture.

Then why is a man born? Is it for procreation? Is it for provision? Is it for continuity? Is it for purpose? Is it for endeavour? A man is born for love. He is not born to receive it, but to give it. He teaches the world love. His presence, even when on his knees, deprived and battered, creates a need in others, a need to change things. Even when nature seems to be against a man, it is ironically seeking to change the world through him. A man must sacrifice his nature, for the world to be changed through him. He has to forfeit comfort, to ensure the rest are.

When a man wipes sweat beads from his forehead with his bare palms, he strikes off a challenge the universe set for him. The universe does not reward a man for every milestone he achieves, rather it accords him rest in death, and legend for future generations. A man must therefore not be content in his set goals, for these are nothing in the eyes of nature. His story does not begin to be written until he is dead and motionless. If a man’s actions stop when is dead, he is forgotten. When his footprints can be seen on dry patched earth way into his death, then he lives. They are not wiped off by heavy rainfall or blizzards. Instead, they are magnified and cast in immortal print.

It is only sad if a man is buried and the universe doesn’t stop to absorb him into its band of infinite wisdom. A man in his lifetime must ensure he works to be absorbed into the functionality of the universe. Be it fate, miracles, purpose, or wisdom, the universe has a vast rewarding scheme in terms of placement for its men. Men who choose and live out their manhood in its simplicity. The suffering and emptiness of the world should bear no distractions to their essence. For theirs is to serve the universe, that’s his true essence. Born of the universe, a man must return to it.

There is no time to feel sorry for yourself as a man. Time doesn’t.