When The Day Is Dull Like A Dream’s Funeral


vikas chandra

The dust that rose, from the, pilgrim’s feet
Lay spent now, in the, summer heat
Mad urchins play, in sweat, and clay
With a prayer, for yet, one more day!

I wake up, in my, sultry bed
Beside same harlot, drunken dead
I walk to, the window, wave at, the brats
With retorts, profound more, than brickbats!

Same pack of, rabid dogs, at my door
Bark out, their hearts, thru sweltering tongues
I relish, rare whiffs, of petrichor
As blood, drips down, from their, bursting lungs!

How I’ve aged, beyond, point of return
My mirror bares, my spectacle
Each moment, seems my, last sojourn
When The Day Is Dull, Like A Dream’s Funeral!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra

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