That Poet Time Awaits The Most


For Wizards, of Words, tethered, to syllables
Or free-verse, meandering, in lost lanes
To same tomb, lead, literature’s cradles
Where squirm, inert, ingenuity’s remains!

When, inbred impressions, perceive
The world, with, ritualized convictions
Expressions are, bound to, deceive
Thoughts’ unfelt, forbidden, dimensions!

Truths, all the more, are a, mean metaphor
Of lies, sold in, bazaars of, literary sin
Bard basks, in the glory, of that matador
Who defeats poesy, in fests of, digital din!

Who shreds, time-honored, dilemmas
In a blitzkrieg, of, renegade riposte
Who bares, our, timeless enigmas
That Poet, Time Awaits, The Most!

© 2021 Vikas Chandra

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