Had it not, been for, this mystic tryst
Time would, be a, dreary delusion
Who’d know, it best, than that Alchemist
Who chisels life, with, death’s dimension!!
No sweet, a sin, as September
When a birth, is cradled, by a, funeral song
More’s merrier, the pain, we remember
Does that heart, ever love, that, does not long!
Celebrating pain, is the, inbred creed
A truth, that tethers, two worlds apart
To tend, thru winters, springtide’s seed
A wild zephyr, bleeds, nightingale’s heart!
Who rustles past, the soul, of the moor
If not, in fear’s throes, faith’s recall
Life’s pain, purrs ode, to death’s l’amour –
The Lasting Whispers, Of, The Fall !
© 2020 Vikas Chandra