Before, the birth of, cosmic twins
And the, renaissance, of evolution
Far beyond, our “Laws, of Origins”
It ain’t, prisoner of, perception!

In our, endless pilgrimage, of art
Nothing’s exact, but, approximate
Neither final, symphony, of Mozart
Nor, the digital myths, now we create!

The wild wind’s, dance, in the wilderness
The space-time’s, play, in the universe
Beauty, ain’t a pawn, in God’s duress
But an, expression of, freedom’s verse!

To the senses, prejudiced, by our pasts
Splendor, has to be, shred of intellect
That voice, is truth, that ever lasts
Beauty Is, Its Own, Dialect!

© 2021 Vikas Chandra