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.
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