Those riots, that refused, to die
Are, wispy whispers, which remain
The sigh, of a, lingering lullaby
Cradles, not dream, but its, lasting pain!

Still snakes, on windows, aftermath
Of a battle, between, soul and heart
Beyond, a rain, it was, bloodbath
That Mozart, lost to, Bonaparte!

Remembrance, is a, wrinkled bed
I dare, not sleep, on it again
But o’er, shards of, truth, naked
My piety, feels, more than, profane!

I recollect, my, surrogate thoughts
From the, colosseum, of a, martyr’s rite
In the wasteland, of, forget-me-nots
A Dream, That Died, On Monsoon Night!

© 2022 Vikas Chandra