Pain’s rituals, at a yearning heart’s cost
Are the sum-up of, love’s labor’s lost
To fathom sea of blood, sweat and tears
Is the art for bards, who trade in despairs!

Call it monsoon of, ingenuity’s hope
Which rears the flair, of a steadfast soul
What’s left for bard, is, to toil and cope
With the aftermath, for art, takes its toll

Since myriad years, this sublime surge
Sates the sea, of human pursuit
Of deep enigmas, that ebb, and emerge
Or overdone myths, of the forbidden fruit!

Deep-rooted are, in starry eyes
The seeds of dreams, borne to defy
Soul’s trials, sublime tears baptize
Till hearts’ oceans run dry, good poets cry!

© 2016 Vikas Chandra