They smell like, drying blood, of man
Stagnating in, time’s, clogged veins
When, where, began, that caravan
Whose only, broken, trail remains!
Why such, fanatic lust, for that past
Which lives, in a constant, schizophrenia
Truths ain’t worth, as much, lies that last
Behind prejudice, pride’s, insignia!
Beyond, A.D., B.C., in, dark age
Man had, no name, nor existence
From past, to present, our pilgrimage
Redeems, our ethnic, quintessence!
Half-lived, is today, in yesterday’s fear
And half, in tomorrow’s, mystery
We too, shall lay, in time’s throes, bare
In, Old Pages, Of, Lost History!
© 2021 Vikas Chandra