How guiles galore, render this world
Into a realm of, happenstances
Why man is a, lingering enigma, hurled
In a mayhem, of privileged pretenses!

Whose name I own, whose faith I got
Whose pain throbs, in my restless heart
Whose soul strays, in my flesh, if not
A sin, which tears, my life apart!

The mystique of birth, fear of death
And between, cherished servitude
Every breath, burdened, with a shibboleth
Each moment, an obliged platitude!

I chose to be, a clone of the past
Spent seed of creed, I deify
I stare at my mirror, of truth aghast
And ask myself, “Could I Be A Lie”!

© 2017 Vikas Chandra