Would less be, me a Jesus but!
Good Friday ain’t, just near though
Yet Easter’s far, for phoenix’s woe
And my ashes smolder on, so what!
That promise, was a sin to make
Which brought me, to eternity’s end
How mortal is a man, godsend
Whose feats futile, his life’s keepsake
To rise yet again, from a castoff skin
To live a lie, and die a truth
Betwixt lie the, myriad guiles uncouth
Those wars we lost, for battles to win
Be sentenced to life, banished from redemption
Dogged fate of man, his hard-earned bread
One more messiah, hung by a thread
Waiting for a death, a resurrection
© 2016 Vikas Chandra
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