These nights, are, half-done funerals
Of reveries, that refuse, to die
When I search, the soul, of my syllables
I find, my thoughts, in the prison, of words’ lie!
What squirms, and smolders, in my heart
Is not, my faith, but its, lasting fear…
In the war, between, Mozart, and Bonaparte
Two crosses, I am, but, left to bear!
Thru dawns, and dusks, my hide, and seek
With world, its sins, and sacraments
Never end, my musings, of mystique
I am, a myth, my truth invents!
This love, of hurt, and lust, for pain
Is the bliss, of a, sadist’s hyperbole
Amid orgies, exalting, human stain
I Bleed, My Heart, To Feed, My Soul!
© 2021 Vikas Chandra
