Thursday, March 31, 2011

Fickle, yet alive.

A feeble squeak,
Darkness hovers,
Slained in a swoosh,
The mind rots deserted,
To Virtuosity,
A last toast,
That would be it,
Freed now is the host.

Bade adieu with,
The roll of honour deserved,
Bach's tribute,
And a Cognac,
Twenty one rounds,
Into my head,
Be blessed with peace,
Ones lain dead.

Ain't no tear in my eye,
But I grieve,
Penned a song,
In its natal memory,
Inside the mind,
Valiantly it fought,
Wishing I tell its story,
The death of a noble thought.
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If only by Chandan Kumar is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 India License.