Have more often, been, dead to the world
O’er trodden self, and misplaced time
Peeked at the mirages, fancies hurled
Until last night, came, a dream sublime!

A life summed up, in feats and defeats
Was not what I saw, with bolted eyes!
But a childhood strutting, naïveté’s streets
Whilst pined manhood, cut down to size!

Could more be divine, man’s conjuring
Than a child, resurrected, from lost past
Ain’t life, its pains, worth enduring?
With the hope, of a dream, that’s born to last!

And man whispered, to his childhood’s mirth
“Ain’t life, then death, but, meant to redeem
A soul enslaved, to the lust, of birth
And a heart possessed, by the myth, of a dream!”

© 2017 Vikas Chandra