This world, this world of thine,
Is not at all divine;
Nor is speculated, as thou speculate
A utopia of bliss; thou envisage.
Each man is carriage of his chafe:
Pomposity turns to his folly,
And all I’m is a naive.
Everyone will flatter thee:
Whilst thou beseech; but what in misery?
Obdurate they call me, for I blemish,
Such despicable relationships.
To brute like I shall always fit:
A pristine abuse, so be it:
Yet, I shall persist!!
- Divyanshu Bargali
© 2017 Divyanshu Bargali