Paradox of my afternoon stupor
Bares the darkest myth in the starkest way
Beyond every ugly conjecture
Is the truth of this dreadful melee!

Who bestows me this sordid sleep
That stabs my heart and scars my soul
The sin I sow, I have to reap
All alone in my pride’s pigeonhole!

Is this siesta a trance of a painful penance
That rips apart my world in two
In hope and despair’s vain romance
I am the loser of my coup!

Between my delusions and dilemmas
I’m a pilgrim on an endless chase
Whose sum of life’s all enigmas
Plays a ploy always, in this Mid-day Malaise!

© 2023 Vikas Chandra