Inertia’s tomb, never seemed, a milestone
How could, great labors, earn stupor
Death’s kiss, each night, beyond a monotone
Is a funeral, of, joie de vivre!
If, in events, is, life’s measurement
Why’s, third of it, lavished away
In this wasteland, grows, only sacrament
Of a dream, lost in, torpor’s melee!
Since this keepsake, I chose, to forsake
Life seems, to stray, in a reverie
Who cares, to slumber, or stay awake
When every moment, is, a profound memory!
I’ve shattered, rosary, of time
Despair of, perceptions’, affair
For life, I devoured, death’s paradigm
A Sleep, Scattered, Here And There … !
© 2021 Vikas Chandra