If not, a flippant, rhapsody
What creed, is then, her insolence!
A wandering wisp, of glaring glee
Defies my, shades of, nonchalance!
Who gave, this flight, to fleeting mirth
And man, the sin, to theorize
Whilst an, ounce of life, redeems its birth
Under ton, of pride, prejudice dies!
“You won’t, be known, beyond a clone”
I sought, to savor, her self-pity
“Better be, a life, than a, dead tombstone”
Stood shamed me, by the voice, of divinity!
Could a, blessing be, softest caress
Of a, zephyr’s soul, bleeding rabbi!
I cut, loose from, worldly ‘finesse’
To fly, On The Wings, Of A Butterfly!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra