For them, I ain’t, beyond a name
In the roster, of their means and ends
A surplus pawn, in a guileful game
A spine useful, so long as it bends!

I’ve learnt to age, at those altars
Where man ain’t fit, if not ‘yes man’
No more in my heart, that rage smolders
Since I lost, that lad, to a faceless clan!

They measure me, o’er appraisals
Who fuel, their fiefs, on my blood
I ain’t a thought, in their Bibles
Just one in, many a, rosary’s dud!

Why fear, be the rite, of my pretense
And outrage, my destiny, everyday
Who buy, and sell, my existence
My job lay dead, in their printer tray!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra