Self-estrangement, is no, enigma
But the creed, of our, social existence
How could, we dare, to be ‘faux pas’
When life, is a, ritualized subsistence’!
We are, the echoes, of those thoughts
In herds, we hear, and regurgitate
We are, a faith, that never doubts
The prejudice, which we reinstate!
Each one, an average, of the sum
Of life’s, convenient, conjectures
To destiny, man loves, to succumb
The only ‘truth’, he manufactures!
Surplus clones, of inconsequence
Rooted as deep, as delusion, delves
Structures of, summarized, substance;
Worth our, fates’ pittance, We Are Not Ourselves!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra