Designed for Eternity, a Poem
A poem submitted that is composed by an anonymous writer. Enjoy!
Designed . . . for Eternity??
I’ll tell you a story, ‘though ere I begin,
I warn you ’twill tear at your heart from within,
‘Tis the tale of a girl you’d be wont to admire,
With crystal clear purpose to which she’d aspire
She knew that this world of ours under the sun
Is merely a route to the World to Come.
All proceeded so smoothly and well,
Until a force as evil as Hell
Threatened to take her before her time –
To pluck her ere she was ripe on the vine.
Kin’ah, Ta’avah and Kovod, — our sages have taught,
Can take a man and make him to naught,
Can remove man from within this world –
Into an abyss a man can be hurled!
And so goes our tale, so sad to relate,
How the forces of evil sealed her fate,
How the net closed about this poor young lass
Who was ridden with ta’avah to dress with “class,”
Who sought the kovod of her friends’ admiration
(While her neshomo suffered from humiliation,)
Who felt a Kin’ah for people with labels
Of Fashion Designers – and on goes this fable…
So sad how this life which could have been so sunny
Was ruined by such sinful wasting of money;
So sad how a girl who was not a bit “prust”
Could be caught in the net of absolute lust,
Caught in a sinister trap of Fashion
And the rest of this tale will turn you just ashen . . .
One bleak night it came to pass
That the Malach Hamoves sighted this lass;
He licked his chops and said “My what a treasure!
I’ll nab her and grab her while I’m at my leisure,
Right now when she’s single, lest there will be
A husband – so shackled in this misery.
There is no doubt that she’d just keep him hopping
With demands for more money so she could go shopping
To Bergdorf’s and Sak’s and Bonwit Teller.
Why – he would be such an unlucky feller!
She’d need a new sheitel each day of the week
For every new style of which fashion does speak.”
So while she was thinking, “Which style is the rage?”
He took her away at a very young age.
But lo and behold – and here is the saddest;
You would never guess it, for this is the maddest!
She refused to pass through the Heavenly Gates
Without proper tachrichim as Fashion dictates!!!
And her poor, sweet neshomo went floating, at best,
In outer space – with nowhere to rest;
That poor sweet neshomo shed many a tear
For want a fashionable tachrich to wear.
Now there was a Malach of heart so stout
Who took it upon him to help her out,
Who was so overcome with compassion
That he set out for earth to the world of fashion!
He canvassed Fifth Avenue, store to store,
Astounding the salesmen on every floor.
And her poor, sweet neshomo was tossing and turning
In outer space – for rest it was yearning!
Who heard of a Malach in Bergdorf’s before??
Or buying tachrichim in a department store?
Why – the whole Fifth Avenue buzzed with the fable
Of the angel who shopped for the designer label.
Not one bit of luck; not in one single store,
So he set out for Paris, to the House of Dior.
And her poor, sweet neshomo was tossing and turning
In outer space – for rest it was yearning!
He approached each designer straight down the line
From Geoffrey Beane to Calvin Klein,
But, shrugging his shoulders, Pierre Cardin
Said, “We only design for the living man,”
And all these exertions caused the Malach to pant –
Flung himself at the door of Yves St. Laurent.
And her poor, sweet neshomo was tossing and turning.
For rest it was yearning; for rest it was burning . . .
And maybe . . . a lesson at last it was learning??
And back down below the Malach was tiring,
Wanting to help – but never admiring.
One last try; one last fling –
“I’ll go to Halson, for he is the king.”
“Please, can you help me,” he tremblingly queried.
“To clothe a young lady who wants to be buried.”
“Out!” said Halson, as he puffed his cigar,
Even I think this is going too far!
And her poor, sweet neshomo was tossing and turning.
For rest it was yearning; for rest it was burning!
Oh surely . . .a lesson it must have been learning!
Below, the Malach was struggling and tiring.
He knew that in moments his time was expiring.
“If she’s not at the Heavenly Court for her trial,
They’ll send her below for many a mile.
If she’s not there to plead her own case
Then surely she’ll be in most awful disgrace.”
So he zoomed straight for heaven-not a moment too soon
Hoping, perhaps, – could he save her from doom??
And that poor, sweet neshomo was shaking and trembling
While inside, the Heavenly Court was assembling,
And one brave angel, heavenward bound,
Was sure, at last, that an answer he’d found,
And as the gates stated to close from within,
He came from behind and pushed her in!
And that poor sweet Neshomo, so weak and unstable.
Cared not any more for a designer label;
It struggled enough, requiring great might,
To shield itself from the heavenly light.
But lo! ‘Twas a battle, though gallantly fought.
For material clothing are counted for naught.
And all that money that was poured down the drain,
At present, caused terrible anguish and pain.
Then a great voice in heaven, all presence did fill
And, other than that, all was perfectly still.
“Who can defend this young lady?” it asked,
And the humble neshomo just stood there aghast.
Helpless and broken, in great trepidation,
Anguished and suffering humiliation,
So overcome with remorse and misgiving,
Wishing – just wishing, that it was still living.
Now, one small voice, all kindness and grace,
Broke the stillness and took its place,
The Malach, adopting a bold new stance,
Cried “Couldn’t she please have another chance?!
If this poor sweet neshomo with life you would bless,
Then surely this time she would know how to dress.”
That poor sweet neshomo just stood there in awe,
Trembling and shaking in fear of The Law;
And right there in heaven, thereby there ensued
An unprecedented, heavenly feud!!
The Malach Hamoves yelled and he shouted,
He puffed and he snorted; he fumed and he pouted.
But the kind little Malach, in voice crystal clear,
Quietly proved that the girl was sincere.
“Silence!” then stillness – all moved not a pace
As a Heavenly Decree decided the case.
And the kind little Malach, neshomo in tow,
Set out once more for the earth down below,
And this my friends is the end of my fable,
It is called “The Legend of the Designer Label.”