Whose shadow, walks, whose pilgrimage
To the, farthest end, of nothingness
No milestones, just, time’s tombs, that age
Beyond, my faith, and fear’s, finesse!

Is, mind’s revolt, evolution’s fault
The bane, and boon, of a, thinking man
Whose bread, of thoughts, needs, social salt
As caravan, can’t be, a stray, tin can!

I wish, I had, learnt, to forget
All conquests, and their, aftermaths
My ethos, is a, spent cigarette
Smoldering thru, all my, life’s bloodbaths!

No freedom, from this, cul-de-sac
Is one, of life’s, cherished fallouts
Since, I fear, I’ll still, be a paranoiac
The Day, I Stop, Chasing, My Thoughts!

© 2022 Vikas Chandra