These endless lanes, like serpents twine
They lie, of new tryst, every turn
A phantom toes, a dead bloodline
As he, takes this promise, to his urn!
The morning plea, and bread, taste same
With blisters, that resemble Christ
My kith and kin, cherish endgame
Of a man, sold out to, life’s heist!
A mob I am, the mob I was
And a mob, I shall, forever be!
Behold the pride, of a lost cause
Who flaunts, to death, his triviality!
I am the partridge, and the moon
And the night too, of my day’s pretense
I measure time, with coffee spoon!
In sips of sin, my Existence!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra