As King Nebuchadnezzar stared 
Into the flames of Baba Gurgur
And the furnace heat beat him back,
His clutching wit slotted home the pieces
Of this giant jigsaw of life.
Even as he placed the last piece within his grasp
A new one spawned in a shape 
That he couldn't handle,
A shape that slid off the atlas,
That forked into orbit,
Out of reality.
He flicked the edges,
Which looped back to themselves.
He shook them down so
The ashes that they became,
From searing in the heat of the pit,
Sailed off into the heavens
To voyage over the endless 
Ocean of the void.
With that he pulled out his great bow,
And sniped the heart of a soaring Eagle
Which slammed into the desert sand with arrogance.
He took the body,
Claiming it as his own,
Claiming deliverance,
And he cast it into the burning mountain of Yanar Dag
With expectation.
He waited... and he waited.
But this Phoenix did not rekindle
And Nebuchadnezzar's failure was complete.

Guru Nanak, Founder of Sikhism and the first Sikh Guru, died today in 1539.