O’er, shifting sands, pain’s pilgrim, strays
Slumbers, whose tomb, o’er forlorn moor
In the throes, of time, estranged soul, says
“For life’s s(i)ndrome, remembrance, ain’t a cure!”

Every morning, noon, night, regurgitates
Same cud, of, timeless triviality
Truth, is a myth, mind recreates
With rituals, of, ‘rationed rationality’!

Countless caricatures, in, mind’s space
Very few, though, with a, distinct face
Numbingly herd, past’s, stale recall!s
Thru, graffitied whispers, on, views’ walls!

How oft, I vowed, to never return
Where, springtide squirms, and, autumn rots
To the farm, of, futile forget-me-nots
Helplessly halts, yet, my sojourn
At The, Daily Déjà Vu, Of Thoughts!

© 2021 Vikas Chandra