“When I’m done, with my, worldly sins
That’s where, my pilgrimage, begins”
He left, these last words, on a shred
Like a, solemn swan-song, his obituary read!

Was oblivion fate, or his, cherished faith
His soul’s, enduring, dimension
In life; after death, who lingered, like a wraith
Chased truth, to the edge, of salvation!

His nihility, his legacy, beyond a doubt
His forlorn dream, his, lasting requiem
Who chose penury, o’er, soul’s sell-out
Had nothing, to seek, so, nothing to redeem!

Who’d sold, his shack, for a, quiet union
Of the relics, of his life, with his, tranquil two yard
Epitaph reads, “Mister, Anon, is done!”
On The Tombstone, Of An, Unknown Bard!

© 2020 Vikas Chandra