When I look upon from a long distance
That ‘profoundness’ of my ‘very vain verse’
From the eyes of liberal indifference
I dissect my naked universe
An array of empty ciphers!
I’m one of them who dare not read
An unknown poet’s ‘doggerels’
A critic is born when the poet is freed
From pride, prejudice, piety’s shackles
I merely played on syllables/
I played chess with mere syllables!
How long I hold this pain in heart
Ever yearning for world’s acceptance
I know I ain’t Eliot or Mozart
A lost thought not worth remembrance!
Back at my desk, I dip my quill
In the blood of my floetry
Whilst, my mind mourns, and heart squirms, yet, soul is still
All Estranged From My Poetry!
© 2023 Vikas Chandra