Spring snuggled, in the throes, of fall
Amidst, looming fog, in wilderness
When the, old man, sighed with, a fond recall
“Never tubers, smelt like, pain’s largess!”

The embers shone, in the, urchin’s eyes
His blasé breaths, measured the, mist
And then, the man, his truths, and lies
With the, vision of, an alchemist!

The holy bread, with starchy earth
Tasted like Christ, baptized in, blood
An aging child, a man’s rebirth
Soul’s panacea, felt like, smoked spud!

They gazed, thru façades, of future, and past
Whilst time, smoldered o’er, tomb of decay
Yet another age, doomed to outlast
A Child’s Play, Baked In Clay!

© 2019 Vikas Chandra