The Impasse Poem by Ankur Beohar

And what unthinkable things
I do, because of my vanity
I wander berserk in the woods
In search of felicity!

And those weapons of my skills
That are but mortgaged from god
I use them ruthlessly In rupturing the world
dying of it's own fragility

Oh Why? Why do I war
So often, with those patterned stars
what claims can the little ones have
Except reflecting their own scars

I am bound to flow in life
Without an aim or a truth or vice
Till I claim this world to be my own
Till my spirit within is shone

Unbound by the mortal curse
In the dearth of the omniscient verse
I spiral on the same path
and my adventure is this frivolous aftermath.