Beyond, the quest, of world’s conquests
O’er, modest moor, not the, tallest peak
My sheer, belvedere, here, manifests
A man, is the substance, that he, yearns to seek!
Bulls’ bells, where, sound like, distant rain;
And zephyr, whispers, to, silent squall;
In time’s bargain, lost, the last, coal-train;
Skech, splendor’s portraiture, in my, memory’s wall!
Between estrangement, from that, mean mean realm
And this, profound bond, with, life’s beauty
I find, truest self, when, I overwhelm
All ciphers, from, my infinity!
He dares not, to be king, of that herd
Who’s, found nirvana, in this, pauper’s throne
Where ends, that delusion, called ‘world’
I Belong, To That, Lone Stone!
© 2022 Vikas Chandra