Gloomy Sunday


vikas chandra

A sin azure, how it, stains the sky
With the blood, of my last, morning’s sun
I hear, a million, widows cry
As I sniff, my last drop, of semen!

The trysts, of living, cadavers died
For a day, o’er, extended sleep
Yet again, their etherized, souls sighed
“Your banality, reeks, many miles deep”!

I gaze again, at ‘little men’
Toil with, fresh milk, stale newspapers
How the twain, define our, beings’ ken
We resurrect, with, dead conjectures!

No more, heart’s wish, but my soul’s verdict
Why I kiss, to death, a death, each day
A destiny’s shame, a life’s convict!
Ends life’s game, on a Gloomy Sunday!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra

View original post

Submit a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s