It had to be, to not, to be
From a blasé heart, unspent despair
A prayer, tangled, in rosary
Like the, mystique, of a smiling tear!
I stare at the, sunbathed boulevard
No steps, I hear, no soul I see
Just shadows, playing, with a bard
A chess-game of, spent rhapsody!
“Calendars don’t lie” so they say
But worth, a check, this brazen truth
Could it, ever be, my birthday
Sans the, sin of spring, fall’s lasting ruth!
I gape, at parakeets, in my cage
Fluttering, for death, or freedom
As time, makes me to, age and age
A looming end, about to come!
“Hope is sadist”, for all, I know
Since an enigma, my birth became!
Yet sweetest, is this, cherished woe
That Birthday Wish, Which Never Came!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra