A Riddled Azan


When hate, is all, that’s left of them
Who trade, faith’s truth, to prejudice
In shrines, lay strewn, tombs of mayhem
And blood fills veins, of hope’s abyss!

Why madness be, faith’s surrogate
And faith, a tool, of brittle minds
Who chisel men, with manic trait
And posterity, of the, vicious kinds!

Who live to death, figment of jihad
And die to live, pledged paradise
Leave treads of gore, behind that façade
And a despised faith, to pay its price!

How bullets solve, a faith’s conquests
Beyond the providence, of Quran
Why mosques baptized, in bloody fests
Why mourns her clan, A Riddled Azan!

© 2017 Vikas Chandra

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