Crestfallen, more than, mirth of fall
I bow to, tomb of, my belief
I’m a graffiti, fading, from my wall
Once king, now pauper, of lost fief!
I walk, in herd, which I despised
Ain’t I, one of, these common men
Had pride, and prejudice, compromised
My ethos, with their, poison-pen!
Banal existence, seems my, redemption
From the faith, in words, and fear of thoughts
Who’d found, in beauty, salvation
Now calls, his labors, “black ink blots”!
I did redeem, myself, lastly
From a, mad alchemist’s, chemistry
Never was it, ever meant, to be
A Day, Without, My Poetry!
© 2020 Vikas Chandra