Roots of fear, shoots of despair
O’er grave of life, cradle of birth
Why autumn has to come each and every year
From the wounded womb of mother earth!

Yearning for hurt, why hearts must bleed
In this ritual of love, most profane
Who sows in souls, sin-ister seed
Of this penance of proundest pain!

These woods would die, to be reborn
Will hearts too live to love and long
Why nightingale must stab with a thorn
Her forlorn soul for a lovelorn song!

The rustles sound of Satan’s prayer
Or God’s graffiti, on faith’s fear’s wall
Lo and behold, life laid out bare
IN THE LASTING FUNERAL OF THE FALL!

© 2023 Vikas Chandra