Tryst With Destiny

In the mist of the journey’s penultimate mile at the edge of the ordained pasture of future obscure, the sunset swansong resonates in the twilight hour for the forlorn wanderer silhouetted shapeless in stillness against the chromatic skyline of transient brilliance, witnessing the last fading flicker of the dwindling day. The twirling threads of turmoil entwined seamless with the cleaved clouds of the swarming storm, lash the unwary horizon halcyon once in tranquil transcript, mimicking the chameleon facsimile of transformation on the convoluted canvas burning at the last corner, from the flare of craving inferno the ashes fly away. The shards of the splintered sky in the swirling gale roll on the dismal waves of curled-up psychic cloud, the remnant rays of eternal sanguinity survive yet in the departing dusky flashes of the sinking sensuous sun, fabricate the latent lattice of the unframed dreams in the kaleidoscopic snapshots of petrified listless life. When I feel in the emptiness of mind’s barren landscape, verdant imagination turn into fossil wood of frustration, I look through the heartening aperture of absolute hope into emotive kaleidoscope I’ve built with consummate care. Its manifested motif attests I’ve a proclivity toward writing in lucid verse the chronicle of chaotic life’s tryst with destiny.