Why earn, a birth, to learn, to age
From the, rainbow farms, of blasé days
To these, lonely lanes, to pilgrimage
Life means, a measure, of malaise!

When we, ain’t young, nor, are we old
Amid, renaissance; resurrection’s throes
A past’s platitude, on, present’s scaffold
Is life, a legacy of, cherished woes!

In kin, and mob, I search, myself
To find, no more, than a, rootless wraith
I’m a, swaggering shadow, of that elf
Who wavers, between, fear and faith!

Every morning, litany, of sin, august
Each noon, a misery, which, world spews
Every twilight, funeral, of life’s, lust
In this miasma, of, Middle Age Blues!

© 2020 Vikas Chandra