That fall, I lost, in spring’s recall
When a widow, seemed, last equinox
With a, stupored spirit, the monsoon squall
Had found, its, poignant paradox!

From the, Valentine’s day, to the, Halloween twilight
Who bore, the cross, of, passing time
“I won’t, make it, to the, Christmas night”
Whispered, to me, her sin sublime!

One, who transcends, rites, of existence
Is the, only truth, that still exists
What outlives, the funeral, of pretense
Is the, only myth, that still persists!

I lay below, my throbbing heart, o’er rotting log
In the throes, of, fall’s, still lullaby
That misery, still lingers, in fog
When I, Last Heard, The Zephyr Sigh!

© 2021 Vikas Chandra