An inert man, on the, pyre of pain
Is all, I am, since the, fall of twilight
O’er wrinkled bed, with a, paradox profane
Am I, God’s castaway, or, Satan’s delight!

It ain’t, gotten fear, though, my faith, I resent
As I tear, layer by layer, veins of, existence
Every breath, is a burden, of a sacrament
Strewn rosary, of life, called ‘senescence’!

Dare I stare, at the door, with a, spent yearning
Alas! Who shall, come, for my, redemption
For, my karmas, are my, own earning
And nirvana, my lone, conviction!

I awe at, the fury, in the, hearts of stars
And then, at my flicker, faith kept alight
With the pain, of soul’s, enduring scars
Amidst sin’s bazaars, A Long, Fever Night!

© 2020 Vikas Chandra