Both king, and kingdom, lost today
In this, world-worn heart, every beat, lay spent
Life is, no more, than a, mean melee
Death is, no less, than a sacrament!
Truths, turned out, to be, mere conjectures
All sum of, a vain mind’s, obsessions
Done with, God’s, faith’s, fear’s, indentures
I’m, born again, with, no convictions!
Why wanders, wasteland, bale of hay
O’er, myriad miles, of nothingness
What a pilgrim, is, who lost, his way
Searching himself, ever more, than less!
All moments, melt to, fond adieus
Like a, longing fall’s, forget-me-nots
I am, the funeral, of my muse
Thru The, Pilgrimage, Of, My Thoughts!
© 2022 Vikas Chandra