I am, the man, who makes, the mob
And the, mob too, which makes me, that man
Who’s born, with a heart, which learnt, to throb
With the, fear of faith, since time began!
A brittle being, of fog, and sand
Is all, I am, for I chose, to be
A prejudice, woven, strand by strand
By faith, with fear, of my destiny!
I am, no shrine, but a, tomb of time
A shadow, chasing, life’s mirage
Existence is, sin’s paradigm
And yearnings’ pain, memories’ montage!
Beyond a face, a faith, a fear
Are we, blown shadows, of those elves
Which linger on, to then disappear
In world’s warren, When We Find Ourselves!
© 2019 Vikas Chandra