The vagaries, of a, vagabond
Are riotous psalms, of a, mystic, blind
Like the, faith’s rosary, scattered beyond
The precincts, of a, manacled mind!

To swill, stark sin, from the chalice, of moon
A shadow, staggers, o’er, stupor’s street
Paved with, broken dreams, which lay, all strewn
Like stabbing shards, of my, mind’s defeat!

In the, proud prejudice, of a, mad nomad
There is, more prudence, than pretense
Why fear, lingers in, faith’s façade
And heart, and mind, in soul’s reverence!

How can, I say, it is, not mine
When that, waif is my, very own insight
It slithers, in my mind, like a, sin serpentine
A Thought, That Strayed, Through The, Soul Of Night!

© 2020 Vikas Chandra