Those who see thru me, ain’t the ones who see
A man estranged, to his heart, his soul
A stroke of luck, his fortitude’s decree!
And letdowns, earnt tolls, on the dole!

“Ain’t me that good, nor bad as well?”
Stands poised betwixt, two brinks, a man
What’s a myth, to hide and a truth to tell?
Where both converge, stands a cynical clan

This sublime struggle, of heart over mind
Is the Holy Grail, of man’s pursuit!
For triumph is, letdown refined
Not the flaw, of that forbidden fruit

In me, the master, and my slave
I choose to win, and lose my bout
My glory sings, on my failing’s grave
My odes to self-worth and self-doubt

© 2016 Vikas Chandra