Why smolders, in eyes, soul’s furnace
This draught, may last, without any rain
Why fathers, must bear, a Spartan face
Manifested, by man, is pain, more profane!
“Fulfill, thy rites, of chivalry”
Is the, decree, of this, cliché-ridden world
“Be, a martyr, of, your misery”
Sighs, every, sinful soul, in this herd!
“Never mourn man, deadpan, existence
You’re, the farmer, of your, family’s faith”
In this, endless, pilgrimage, of pretense
I am, a fearful, shadow, of my wraith!
Have, they dried out, when, I need them
Man ain’t, the myth, that, he appears
That bled, my heart, in life’s mayhem
Why Mine, Be, All Those, Un-shed Tears!
© 2022 Vikas Chandra