Social conquest, was existence, until I found
Life is, an art, to set, self free
There ain’t, a utopia, more profound
Than a, little something, somewhere, for me!
Who’ve never, heard, the nightingale
By zephyr thorned, with the pain, of falls
Would never, know life, beyond tell-tale
Graffitied with lies, on shady, city walls!
Without that faith, there’s no more, fear
Which had, made me, a social satire
There is, more bliss, in this, hearth austere
Where heart, is redeemed, from desire!
Sans pride, prejudice, piety, passion
I am, no more, that lie, called “I”
A delusion, dissolves in, unison
With A Fist, Of Land, An Ounce, Of Sky!
© 2020 Vikas Chandra