She’s no more, than a, broken nerve
Gleaning smithereens, of day’s relics
A phantom rioting , lunatic verve
In the cradle of, reborn phoenix!

The mistress, of dark, nonchalance
So lost in, reigning, sin’s kingdom
I’m no, more than, a happenstance
A thought, dissolved in, her conundrum!

The blasé pilgrim, burning bright
Despairs the lovelorn, scorching soul
Squandering light, on a heedless night
Like a bride’s funeral, on a pyre ole!

A widow tangled, in her rosary beads
Of fear and faith, languidly strewn
A sinner she is, of the sin she seeds
The Night Won’t Sigh, If I Rape The Moon!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra