Had man not been, a yarn of clay
Nor all his quests, for endless joy
Would dreams, then be, a child’s play
Not the substance, of destiny’s decoy!
The yields of resolve, on unyielding soul
Who farm against, onslaughts of time
Hope ain’t all benign, it does take its toll
The price we pay, for a sin sublime!
Be delusion it, though the sweetest one
It walks us to our, soul’s threshold
Ain’t mirage worth a chase, for a fear undone?
Ain’t life worth the fear, which makes us bold!
Beyond gotten faith, inbred instincts
Hope is that enigma, of profound kind
Which transcends, mankind’s fears’ precincts
It’s the godliness, by man refined!
© 2017 Vikas Chandra