Fools rush in, where angels fear, to tread
And swear by the, unkept last year’s vows
Had the Earth not spun, and the time not sped!
Would they not grouse, what would they carouse!
Who love to shove, past’s onus, on a wish
Christen ‘New Year’, millstone of their dreams
Squandered time passé, unseen a fetish
Time ain’t that old, nor so new, as it seems!
The human chase, to measure time’s age
In the histories of, his vanity’s feats
Is it worth that obsession, and all its rage
That we suckle slow-death, from destiny’s teats!
Who flaunt new clothes, when the clock strikes twelve?
Alas! Worn-out souls, of time’s puerile pawns
All their lost pursuits, but left to delve
New Years Are All, But For Morons!
© 2017 Vikas Chandra