Thirty three, a redeeming quality
Gained much of the tranquillity
Perhaps need a bit of clemency
Drank once from the poisonous chalice
Coming from the wreckage of disastrous
This is the age of Christ the crucified
Or the one whose fear is to be forgotten
Eva Perón, the least conceived Argentinian
Come on in, let’s observe the orchard
Arisen through the spines but nurtured
Yes, no tangible achievements
Jill of trades, masteress of none
But not the epitome of nonchalance
Till dying, dying for knowledge
Sex, ale and books, the three beloveds
Let’s hear what the Charlatan said once
“My name means the leader
You are just Aviva
Which makes you inferior
Whereas all I do is for the greater”
These are the words of no etiquette
Nearly ambushed was I, but unscathed
As defined, he was presumptuous
Like Goliath, spewing venom
He held the little man of his locum
Wisdom misleads
There are times you say “Glad I did not”
As in the case of Smyrnian
In disguise of ritualistic threesome
She was offered to him as feast
Irrespective of misfortunes and fortunes
Until the first born of Rayne
The pivotal figure of 33 is to remain.