Value of Argentum

By Sabyasachi Nautiyal

They shook my hand and patted my back, 

Spoke to me in their self-assured tone, 

“You fought well, I just got lucky,”

And I smiled as they moved on, 

On to the next contender, 

While I stood there with that plastic smile, 

Standing on the pedestal that was, 

Obviously, frustratingly, conspicuously, 

Lower than their own, 

As their words gnawed their way into my head, 

Sickening me to my stomach, 

“Luck, skill, genius,”

“Don't lose heart, next time, you'll win for sure,”

And what good will that victory be? 

Would it ease this buzzing in my head? 

Would it make me feel any less mediocre? 

As though I'm worth something? 

Or would I be just as much of a sore loser? 

The guy who remembers the man who came second, 

Is a guy with too much free time, 

For the man who came second is not worth much, 

The man who came second,

Simply lost to the better, 

“If only you weren't around,”

“If only I wasn't here,”

And the cold silver bites his skin, 

Because the silver is the moon, 

And all the moon can ever do, 

Is emulate the sun, 

A cheap imitation, 

For the sun is as flawless and glorious, 

As the burnished gold, 

The winners play it off as a feat not remarkable, 

While the losers are told that their loss was “destiny,”

Destiny, they say, as though that clears it all, 

“Perhaps, being mediocre is my destiny,”

“Perhaps, losing to better men,”

“Perhaps weilding this silver,”

The value of Argentum, 

Is in dignifying the Aurum, 

For the mere participant, 

He seeks what his losses can preach, 

But for the man bestowed with silver, 

The gold, just wasn't in his reach

By Sabyasachi Nautiyal