Why choose to be, martyr to, your thoughts
On the crucifix, of vanity
While world awes you, your snobbery shouts
“Oh! Spare me, this profanity”!
You are a naked king, for those
Who fail to see, beyond their bread!
A captive, in your wisdom’s throes
Who yearns to be, a ‘sheep’ instead!
Tied down to, millstone of savoir-faire
You gape, at the soaring butterflies
Your rationale, your cherished despair
And lone solace, your pious guise!
Who sowed, the sin of, intellect’s seed
And the chase to Godhood, in man, thence
Then farmed sophists, to bleed and bleed…
To pay The Price Of Providence!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra