Done with, gaging you, thru calendars and clocks
How time spent me, over years of your chase
Which made me, your prized paradox
Whilst you still remain, my fall from grace!

Never wanted you; too late to say!
Was it a choice, how could that be!
When born to you, thru womb of clay
Why pain not be, my destiny!

From a blue-eyed boy, with stars in eyes
To the edge of hope, a diehard cynic
You bought me, with your flirty lies
To sell to death! How sadistic!

When treasured whims, turn out to be
A drudgery, of a daily chore
I’m an aging tomb, of my dreams’ debris
O’er truths galore; Life Intrigues…No More!

© 2017 Vikas Chandra