I toss and turn, on a wrinkled bed
Wake startled, to my destiny
It’s me or my hope, which hangs by a thread
While I dare to dream, a heresy!
The sum of yearnings, and despairs
I labor thru, the day’s ordeals
And burn at night, my gotten fears
O’er ashtray, of my smoldering squeals!
Shall angst, not be, a misnomer
To state a dream, that dies each night
How hopeless seems, to stir, and stir…
A soul I spend, to the worldly spite!
“Forsake me not, your lasting hope
What else is life, meant to redeem”
I gape vainly, at the end of my rope
The malice, of An Aging Dream!
© 2017 Vikas Chandra