Thoughts seek, these days, festooned façades
Not that, substance, of profundity
In banal bazaars, where, trade charades
In their corners, screams, solemnity!
They have, a stupored, soul to believe
Truths are, what impressions, dictate
What’s left, for them, but to conceive
Those myths, they create, what to illustrate!
Intellectualism, seems a, mad rat-race
All ‘thinkers’, wage, their own, ‘conquests’
Thoughts, are pillaged, in, digital disgrace
Literature’s loss, cynicism, manifests!
God forbid, Shakespeare sees, this fray
A billion minds, skimming, sensationalism
From the shore, of sea, that unmined lay
By The, Catacomb Of, Expressionism!
© 2021 Vikas Chandra