I am, no one, but a, happenstance
In the, prison of, every moment lost
A pretense, that suits, their social sense
Who demand, from my soul, existence’s cost!
In every street, their shadows, meet
Who cut, to size, my ’vanity’
Estrangement, to my, own defeat
Is my faith, in their, profanity!
At middle-age, on a, pilgrimage
Life rests, by a tree, called ennui
Man is, a sage, sans spent outrage
With a rosary, of, lost rhapsody!
I chose, to be, a tomb, of time
A legacy, of a, long-lost streak
Peace seems, to be, life’s last, paradigm
When Nothing’s Left, From World, To Seek!
© 2020 Vikas Chandra