In twilight’s, misery, melts my time
When sun, dies down, in the, trinity’s tryst
Life’s chalice, spills, platitude’s paradigm
Senescence, never makes, a man, alchemist!

Once a faith, life’s dream, now bears, end’s fear
I’m a stupor, in a, shrinking shroud
Who sips, his blood, like a, wine-connoisseur
And seeks, himself, in every crowd!

That cherished child, that blasé boy, that man, mean mean …
I’m a sum, of all, my miscellanies
A pilgrim, who has, lost life’s sheen
I drift, thru the dust, of my ignominies!

Don’t mourn, my form, it counts, no more
A seeking soul, needs, no caravan
May my myth, redeem, my truth’s, metaphor
Enigma, Of An, Aging Man!

© 2021 Vikas Chandra