The Recluse

Away from the artful dodgers and dons,
The peace of being perched piously,alone,
Severs the soul,from one's flesh and bone;
Serene notes of the mind,stream a trance.

When pleasures and pains put up a show,
Solitude serves them both a deadly blow;
Beating the boulevard of joy and sorrow,
The soul shrugs off,thoughts of tomorrow.

As the crowd around,is a bundle of baloney,
A secluded march straight towards the void,
Greets a battalion of bliss placidly deployed
To clear the crazy crowd with a silence stony.

Redemption is the exit for the sinning crowd;
Radiance reflects,the hermit's heritage aloud.
P. Chandrasekaran.