From the, saccharine psalm, to the, shrillest note
Like honey, dissolved in, satire
I’d known, her heart, and soul, by rote
Pilgrimage, of a sage, to desire!
It seems, like an age, since my spring, didn’t come
Nor the fall, feels like, sin’s blessed bane
The zephyr, no more knows, how to hum
The soulful air, of, seasons’ blissful pain!
I search, for thee, thy lost rhapsody
O’er rosary, of my, scattered thoughts
How bereaved, of tides, is the, silent sea
Like mermaids, tied in, stupor’s knots!
I seek, thru moor, my soul, my heart…
…My music’s muse, to, no avail
I’m Beethoven’s, lost faith, fear of Mozart
Since I, Last Heard, The Nightingale!
© 2020 Vikas Chandra