Much milder, than that, zephyr’s pain
Which rustles, past the, fall’s remains
Is the, riot on, redemption’s lane
Which breaks free, from our, wanting veins!
In these, silent sighs, of love’s discourse
Eyes bare, the enigmas, lips can’t speak
Hearts, conjure up, new metaphors
To fathom out, love’s, deep mystique!
As we rejoice, sublime sin, of fall
Unspent is still, the mirth, of spring
It’s worth, an age, each fond recall
Every pain today, worth its, yearning!
Lest impressions, be lost, to words
And psalms, of souls, to desires
May the world, trade in hearsays, canards…
As we, converse in, Wordless Whispers…
© 2019 Vikas Chandra