Better-off a bard, of splendid thrift
Than spendthrift, of a verbose kind
A dreary being, with thoughts adrift
All black and white, for a colorblind!
Where is the art, in filling façades
Of starkness, with invented myths
In a labyrinth, of words’ lavish wads
To oblivion lost, many wordsmiths!
Who sells the most, at words’ bazaar?
Whose glory weathers, obsolescence
Why bard and proser, love to spar
Whilst literature, sits on the fence!
To sit at desk, and bleed out words
And awe, at prose’s poser
“Not me, amongst, wordy wizards!”
Ponders, a Reluctant Proser!
© 2017 Vikas Chandra