I’m Nothing But My Poetry

Had I not been, this flesh and blood, a soul’s abode!
Would still have rhymed, for ages on, a longing’s knell
How life has been, a broken, mended, lingering ode
To the testament, I ever lived, to see and tell…!

…How many shades, soul’s prism dispersed
Each fist of thought, to its elements
Wasn’t it me, my personage versed?
That my toil with words, represents!

My cherished truths, treasured travesties
All laid out, arrayed, on a white pretext
But unheard, remain, their entreaties
Who can’t speak, beyond, my context!

Words’ worth galore, and that of those
Who bare, their sublime camaraderie
One more lost, to art’s mystic throes
I’m Nothing, But My Poetry!

© 2017 Vikas Chandra

One comment

Leave a Reply