Why men clasp on, phony flags of conviction
When revolutions ain’t born, in street unrests
But in sublime souls, and kindled breasts
For passion is pure fury, beyond any diction!
Neither faith it needs, nor empty shibboleth
For it knows to endure, sans man-made frills
Soul pours in passion, to a yearning heart’s fills
And the art of obsession, in man’s each breath!
It ever-defies time, and histories’ confines
For it’s the oomph of life, and soul of virtue
Passion needs no means, nor ends to pursue
Conquests of truth, o’er myths’ bloodlines!
That voice which pierces past, deceits decreed
Is the prose of passion, eternal epic’s fortitude
Forsake prized prejudice, your spirits subdued
And your values wearied, Let Passion, Be Its Own Creed!
© 2017 Vikas Chandra
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