No prayer, wedding, or funeral
Had been, complete, without Babel
The waif, whose, solemn soul’s, signal
Brought, the hamlet, to the, Old Chapel!

Whose hands, never toyed, with, stray kites’ strings
But, the rope of, holy hope, of belief
Took pride, in being, beyond, banal beings
“Who’ll die, one day, in their, little fear’s fief”

With his, pious pride, he grew, to a man
Betrothed, to the toll, for an, endless age
More celibate, than, the priest’s, holy clan
He stared, at the heavens, with outrage!

How much, he defied, at last, he died
But, who would, set off, his death knell
A man, who died, all alone, with his pride
The Lad, Who Rang, The Chapel Bell!

© 2022 Vikas Chandra