The Barren Isles Between Those Toils

Who vanquished, whom, a thought, or its quest
Resents whom, who, a mind, or its muse
Whose glory, eclipsed, whose conquest
The ‘blasphemy’, or the, ‘blasphemed’ views!

That storm, now rests in, inertia’s grave
Where a, platitude sings, intellect’s requiem
In the prison, of mind, thought is, truth’s slave
Spent to stupor, for, redemption’s dream!

Like a widow, with a, womb bereaved
Faith’s garden, withers in, fear of fall
Estrangement, with, what I believed
Is graffiti, deepening, in mind’s wall!

Yet, their ain’t, final discovery
Time’s tide, erupts, until it roils
The soul, to cross thru, ennui’s sea
The Barren Isles, Between, Those Toils

© 2021 Vikas Chandra

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