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