Why am I, my own, surrogate child
Lost in, a herd of, world’s melee
With an, estranged man, who, reconciled
Redemption, of a, dream, of clay!

Which resentment’s, my, wretched self
Carried cross, to, altar of faith
Whose shadow, is this, squirming elf
In constant, conquest, with fear’s wraith!

I learnt, since birth, to be, scrutinized
By the, moral myth, of social rite
Wish, I could, choose, to be, baptized
Not a, tethered cynic, but an, ‘astray’ kite!

I see, hardly, in the mirror, of my mind
Last, least lone shred, of my personae
Whom, I lost, to world, to never, find
I Long, For Myself, Every Day!

© 2022 Vikas Chandra