In The Prison Of Her Vainglory


A fossil, of, history’s metaphor
Or a, kingdom’s, lingering heritage
No more, key of, power’s corridor
An old woman, yearns, for her, pilgrimage!

Neither Stalin, nor, Churchill had known
The relevance, of, irrelevance
New equation, who played, from her throne
With enigma, of her, elegance!

Time, absolved her, of colonial sin
True substance, of, her existence
Yet, she sleeps, each day, in that coffin
Which stinks, of her, dynasty’s, decadence!

What worth, is it, celebrating her
Whose pride, is preserved, by history
No less, than fib, nor more, than cipher
In The Prison, Of Her, Vainglory!

© 2022 Vikas Chandra

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