This outrage, I bear, on whose terms
Whose fear, fosters faith, in my soul
Each breath, that seethes, and nerve, that squirms
Is it worth, at all, my being’s toll!

Each day, I beg, my destiny’s bread
When sun, erupts from, yesterday’s tomb
Done with, noon’s dust, twilight’s bloodshed
I gaze, at moon, with a, monk’s aplomb!

My sum, of truths, why I, can’t be!
If myths, they are, to the mob, I belong
I’m a, stark lie, before my destiny
A brittle man, pretending strong!

I ain’t, that faith, which I believe
But a, captive of, my quagmire
Neither solemn psalm, nor a, tale naïve
Life Is A Shameless Satire!

© 2019 Vikas Chandra