The Sunken Poet Poem by mohit prabhakar

In the bedlam of words
with letters waltzing about
baffled the bard stands
enduring a depressive bout

for order in this chaos
he pants, he yearns
disarray at every stride
but still somehow, he learns

seductive the words art
alluring is the hymn
but decadent is the poet
so the ink and sheet with him

bewildered by the realm
for sanity he pants
for last stroke of brush
in his wondrous partial painting
thither he dwells, he stands

and then t'was left broken
with insistent tears in eyes
the poem and words within
and the poet melancholic
at peace with all the lies
and the worldly sin

why cease the beaut lay, he says
let it be partial evermore
for then it will be eternal bliss
for then the bard wont be sore