What man becomes, when multiplied
By ethos, and its history
A relic, left to rot beside
The tomb, of human mystery!
My timeless, ageless fortitude
With a lasting stain of, reconciled flaws
Why was I made, for servitude
To the rituals, of societal laws!
Be herded, by impostors
Is a choice, and so my destiny
I spend my blood, on futile stirs
For the glory, of their hegemony!
Is it all about, an obliged sin?
My being, another social slob
With a caged storm, in my soul’s within
I, The Man, The Mob!
© 2017 Vikas Chandra