That lizard which creeps, thru his bones everyday
And bathes in his blood, strays in his veins, astray
A superstar now, lives at Glory Street
That lizard, his fame, not a pet dog, at his feet

But the orgy of heart, that owns this celebrity
Who rose from rags, adored to death, by the city!
His face is the sheen, of all glossy magazines
There ain’t any tantrum, beyond his means

Did he cough or sneeze? Is the news in dailies!
A heartthrob who throbs, hearts of servile ladies
Was he destined to be, world’s toy of joy?
Or son of fluke, or martyr, to a myth’s ploy

At days, he suckles on media, daily dose of thrills
Restive nights, are cradled, on piles of mandrax pills
Oh! He is the fixation, rubbernecked at, by everyone
In this swarming city, where man stands outrun

He ain’t any different, though, in this eternal steeplechase
A soul ditched at starting line, for the heart, to win the race
Yes! He too sports comrades; bugs of a bizarre breed
Whose sickening selves, sprout on him, like a noxious weed

What fame gave him, a big deceit on display?
But that man of truth, it brazenly took away
Who was, what he was, had bread and slept deep
Not this starving restless man, whose soul, now his keep

Almighty! He shows, in the eyes, he sees
Not that lonely man, some quarantined disease!
World lives on idols, to reaffirm its ineptitude
More souls in the queue, doomed to gilded solitude

“Almighty”! He hears, at all times, voices in his ears
Doctor says schizophrenia! A man sold, to rapturous fears!
“This lizard tickles, the hell of me, as I cry, every breath!”
How drifts crazy, on his debris, that man famed to death!

© 2015 Vikas Chandra