It was, the end, of an, endless age
When silent, fell, the nightingale
My father’s, final, pilgrimage
Stabbed thru, our hearts, like a, coffin nail!
Lost, in the, mawkish, mourners’ herd
Were the, solemn sighs, of a, widowed wife
“How could, you leave, without a word
Those, endless qualms, which were, our life”!
When men, fastened him, to his bier
Women implored, her, It’s time, to break
“These ‘frills’, are no more, a bride’s souvenir
But relics, a widow, must, now forsake”!
I blistered, whilst, he had, to burn
To be, one, with, five elements
I brought, his keepsake, in clay urn
My father’s, smoldering, sacraments!
She kissed, and caressed, his last largess
As we trudged, across, a bereaved, boulevard
Whilst scarred, our so(le/ul)s, with an, ache endless
The Broken, Bangles, On Our Yard!
© 2021 Vikas Chandra