What persists, yet, perhaps exists
To nurture, myth of, existence
Of all, the, cosmic alchemists
It’s the substance, of our, transcendence!
Born from, the womb, of inertia
Before Big Bang, what was, its creed
Now, it measures, realism’s enigma
With a, hearty heart, yet a, soul wearied!
When trinity, toils, the dead clock’s. face
Beside, a calendar’s, graffitis
They keep, alive, human rat-race
Sick with, memories of, lost stories!
A mirage, without, an oasis
A realm, wherein, all truths, myths, blur
Beyond, trap of, Relative Conjecture
Eternity, in, mortal abyss
Ain’t Time, An, Infinite Cipher … !!!
© 2021 Vikas Chandra