A fistful of, lingering, lavenders
Await, in the garden, of remembrance
This ain’t, one of those, sweet Septembers
But last mile, of my, mortal existence!
For a cadaver, on four, cold shoulders
No deed is left, I am done today
No love, no hate, no lust…smolders
In a heart, which bled, in the world’s melee!
The moor, lusts me, more than, my kin
A dead man, or an enigma!
I’m a psalm, of life’s, sacred sin
Or a conquest, of my, death’s chutzpa!
No angst I feel, for their, haunting scream –
“Your life, was a lie, death vindicates”
What a pilgrimage, worth to redeem
That Last Mile, To The Cemetery, Gates!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra