They open, to that, stony street
Which thoughts, have paved with, trysts galore
From soul’s sanctum, to heart’s retreat
How wild bulls gore, a mad matador!
I see or not, it still exists
The moon, it’s splendor, and its sin
Beyond that mist, a realm persists
To his wonder’s awe, blind man’s chagrin!
A Myriad kites, untethered, stray
But from my fist, slips, wisp of time
An ageless wait, for a wink, I say
“Is the funeral, of a sin sublime”
A million, needles stab, thru them
But dare on, stare on, two fireflies
See a man, melt down, to his mind’s mayhem
So Many Dreams, In Unslept Eyes….!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra