In the, mob of shibboleths, in façades
I am, the face, of insolence
I am, the faith, of my jihad
Against, banal rites, of existence!
I am, the angst of, lost moments
I left, empty, without epics
I am, the pain, my heart resents
Is it, not mine, what world inflicts!
I am, the day, which resurrects
Each morning, with new, enigma
From the, ash of night, a hope erects
A faith’s pilgrim, chasing, fear’s stigma!
A riot spent, all through, each day
The lasting, sin, of Abraham
Immortal stray, in beliefs’, melee
A Restless Thought, Is What, I Am
© 2019 Vikas Chandra