The Enigma Called Man

The Enigma Called Man

Man—oh, Man—
the breath of the Almighty pressed gently into clay,
the masterpiece sculpted from dust yet crowned with eternity.
He arrived in a garden of abundance,
a world woven with harmony,
a paradise kissed by the morning dew of divine love.
All was given to him—light, beauty, purpose, and dominion.
One thing alone was withheld,
not as a punishment, but as a compass.
“All these are yours,” the Creator whispered,
“but this one, touch not.”

But Man, restless creature of limitless desire,
heard another voice—
a whisper coiled with curiosity and rebellion.
He stretched his hand toward the forbidden,
and in that moment, innocence ruptured.
And when the consequences followed,
instead of remorse, he pointed elsewhere.
Blame slithered from his lips like the serpent he obeyed.
Thus began the long tragedy of Man:
his genius unmatched, his folly unending.

What strange contradiction lives in the human heart?
A smile that warms in the morning
can freeze into treachery by noon.
The hand that pats in friendship
may also deliver the fatal stab.
Why is kindness so rare—
as rare as rain in a desert of ambition?

Those who climb the ladder of greatness
often shatter its rungs behind them,
ensuring no one else rises.
Those who dwell below
reach not for the stars but for the ankles
of those ascending toward them.
Pulling down becomes easier than climbing up.
And the creed of the jealous rings loud:
“If I catch him, I will destroy him;
if I cannot catch him, I will cripple him.”

Why, oh why, is the success of another
a thorn in the soul of a fellow traveler?
Why must every victory be shadowed by suspicion?

Man created money as a servant—
a symbol, a tool, a simple mediator of exchange.
But the servant became tyrant.
Man bows before it, sacrifices sleep for it,
sheds blood for it, betrays kin for it,
and in the end surrenders his soul for it.
He forgets that life is but a mist,
a passing shadow that dances briefly
on the wall of time before dissolving.
Yet still he clutches glittering dust
as if he could carry it beyond the grave.

Wickedness—where did it enter our design?
The Holy Book declares creation perfect.
Yet the creature meant to be noble
often chooses paths darker than night.
A lion is ferocious, a leopard fierce.
We know their nature, so we keep distance.
But Man—oh, Man—
is both lamb and wolf,
angel and predator,
healer and destroyer.
Danger sometimes wears
the brightest smile on a human face.

Shakespeare spoke truth:
you cannot read a man’s construction in his countenance.
A friendly grin may hide the venom of a serpent.
An offer of help may be the first step
into a descent no one survives.

And yet—Man builds.
He paints the skies with machines of flight,
splits the atom, maps the stars,
writes symphonies that melt stone,
and builds monuments that defy centuries.
But for every wonder he creates,
he births a terror five times greater.
The same mind that protects nature
crafts weapons that silence nations.
He calls it war.
But what is war except
the legalized murder of one’s own kind?

Give Man a taste of power
and he becomes a prophet of promises.
“Raise me up,” he pleads,
“and I will raise you with me.
Give me your trust,
and I will give you paradise.”
Golden words spill from his tongue
like honey in the ears of the hopeful.

But the day he ascends
is the day he forgets the earth from which he rose.
The promises that lifted him
become ashes beneath his feet.
Remind him of them
and you awaken his wrath.
For to him, power is truth,
and truth is whatever shields his throne.
He cages dissenters and calls it duty.
He crushes critics and calls it unity.
He claims his interest is the interest of all—
a lie as old as kingship itself.

Oh Man—
glorious, tragic, wondrous Man—
you are the poem God wrote
and the poem you yourself tore apart.
You are the hope of creation
and its deepest heartache.
You are the crown of the earth,
yet often the sharpest thorn upon it.

A mystery wrapped in brilliance,
a riddle woven with contradictions—
the glory and the grief of the universe.
The enigma of all enigmas.
Man.

 

🪶
J.J. Oluti
Creative Voice of Africa