How I’d love to keep them, for keepsake
Or die, to lure them, to my requiem
My thoughts, many a, drunken snake
Forsake me, to then sting, in my dream

I gaze thru the window, and beyond
Where kisses horizon, soul of the sea
And then, in the mirror, at a vagabond
Impotent lies who, on a false prophecy

Those yesterdays that fed, my todays
I ran out of them, they ran out of me
I gape at bare page, then its maze
Entombed lies a man, in his thoughts’ debris

And at last, does end, that blessed impasse
Past the dark alleys, soul’s pilgrimage blind
Sublime are the yearnings, not the pain alas!
Those formidable learnings, when barren goes mind

© 2016 Vikas Chandra