The Souls Of My Syllables

Impressions hear, expressions speak
Thru the precepts, of our, phonetics
Are thoughts, empty, until they seek
Words with, semantics, and aesthetics!

When vowels, and consonants, tryst
They bare, a dialect’s, chemistry
In façade, of words, an alchemist
Bridges, scattered isles, of asymmetry!

A rosary, of, uneven beads
In the thread, of, grammar’s imperfection
Our literature, can’t help, thus feeds
More dimensions, to this, confusion!

Is a bard, beyond, his legacy
Nor the misery, of, ‘The Miserables’
How holy, is, their heresy
The Souls, Of My, Syllables

© 2021 Vikas Chandra

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