Would ‘Psalm of Life’, be sweet as much
As the scent of, lingering ‘Daffodils’
Why poesy now be, a misery such
At the pity of prose, its dreary skills!

‘The Road Never Taken’, in the past
Now wanders, to a blind alley
Where finds herself, poesy aghast
“Aah! Brevity’s beauty, lost away”!

A cutting, from spent newspaper
Or a rambling, hackneyed anecdote
I hear flair’s consonance, taper
Whilst poesy parrots, prose by rote!

How could prose stir, the soul of a song
When its plight is but, to yearn and long
For the splendor, of that sinful throb
In poesy’s heart, envied by a shallow snob!

Were Yeats, Keats least of all maestros?
Or Wordsworth’s words, not worth a dime?
Why poesy prisoned, in this quandary’s throes
“To Rhyme Or Not To Rhyme”!

© 2017 Vikas Chandra