How a, myth persisted, like a truth
In the throes, of day’s, dreary despair
Till the twilight, bled its, splendid ruth
Laid soul, of dark, ever more, so bare!
What our, eyes are, but a prejudice
Which garb, our fears, in faith’s façade
These shadows, ain’t our, nemesis
But the penance, of mind’s rodomontade!
Whose silhouette, twirls, o’er my soul
With a mirror, which distorts, my being
Truth seems, to be, fear’s hyperbole
A treacherous ‘lie’, worth disagreeing!
I wriggle, in my, wrinkled bed
No aid, no redeemer, heaves in sight
How resplendent, is this, soul’s bloodshed –
Fighting Phantoms, Thru The Night!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra
