How strewn, lay words of, my rosary
Like the psalms, half-learnt, half-forgotten
Do I shame them, or they shame me
In a world, sold off, to words’ liaison!

Why thoughts, are slaves to, words’ pittance
And man byhearts, rites of discourse
In the school of grammar, and pretense
Why squander souls, flogging dead horse!

I chose not, yet not, resent not
Their sentence, for this castaway
Who cut to size, their every thought
To fit in words, of learnt malaise!

Do thoughts, need crutches, of inscriptions
To totter miles, to promised land
Ah! Expressions, at the mercy, of perceptions
Tethered down, to the doctrines, of grammar’s strand!

Where words, count not, beyond a man
Nor decrees dictate, flair’s regime
And thoughts, don’t need, words’ caravan
May the hope redeem, Dyslexic’s Dream!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra