Who hid, his tears, behind our smiles
Never in, the façades, of nonchalance
That man’s, legacy, still reconciles
Enigma, of his, surrogate existence!

To be, a man, in another, man’s skin
Whose faith, and fear, in his estrangement
With a life, lived between, satire and sin
Was nothing, more than, a sacrament!

A showman’s, solitary, subsistence
On throne, of thorns, o’er shreds, of dreams
Stinks, of our, social indifference
Where truth’s, more a myth, as true, it seems!

Delusion died, a desolate, death
He embraced, truth, from which, he ran;
Redeemed, at last, his final breath
From The Pain, Of Being, Another Man!

© 2021 Vikas Chandra