Every joy, is a myth, as good, as it gets
Each hope, a mirage as long, as it lasts
Every dream, is a lie, present’s truth begets
From the womb, of our, forgotten pasts!

Where we, forsook, our lost cradles
To build tombs, of, new magnificence
Now tethered, to ‘Utopia’, in shackles
Rejoice to, death, evolved insolence!

More miasma, lives, than life, in air
Soil lost, her soul, to our gluttony
Sea’s paralyzed, by our, plastic love-affair
Earth stinks, of, survival’s litany!

We shroud, behind, evolution’s alibi
Is Civilization a truth, so hard, to bear
We sow, our dreams, in modernism’s lie
The Seeds, Of Pain, In The, Farm Of Fear!

© 2020 Vikas Chandra