An abstract, of a, genetic tryst
Or aftermath, of a, happenstance
At the hands, of a, willful Alchemist
Was built, a soul, of sin’s substance!

To be, nurtured by, same elements
To which, one day, I will return
O’er pyre, of, social sacraments
A soul braces, to burn, and burn … !

My mother, mentored me, faith and fear
Seeding, God’s sin, deep down, my skin
That calling, I could, no more hear
Was killed, in cradle, not coffin!

Faith’s pawn, and, puppet of destiny
I die every day for my living tomb
I redeemed, birth’s truth, for life’s ignominy
The Day, I Left, My Mother’s Womb!

© 2021 Vikas Chandra