Whose psalm, had held, my rosary beads
Of notions, of truths, half-truths, and lies
From scattering, like, wanderlust’s seeds
In this, pilgrim’s path, to paradise!

When the calling, became a, bitter despair
And pilgrimage, strayed to, my making’s mirage
I saw shrouded, in my soul, threadbare
A man, lost in, mean world’s montage!

May I, find myself, in my smithereens
Where once, I reigned, my figments’ fief
Time spent, my ends, beyond my means
I’m an enigma, beyond my, own belief!

It is, not storm, that shreds, my sail
But the zephyr, with her, gullible guiles
Every tide, dashes me, with the, same travail
Where My Thoughts, Break Down, To Lonely Isles!

© 2020 Vikas Chandra