How guiles doll-up, in phonies’ mob
Swaggering tales of, modish myth
While truth, must bear, the hatchet job
From those who, raise fibs’ monolith!

What echoes thru, the time’s rampart
Is not the, loudest shibboleth
But the stillest whisper, from the heart
The strength to soul, that truth giveth!

The beacons, from the house of light
Pierce past the fog, and dark’s deceits
Akin to the visions, wordsmiths write
Our truths laid bare, o’er barren sheets!

Neither the ones, which squirm on skin
Nor those, which buy and sell canards
Never those, which loom like sublime sin
But bleed from soul, The Truest Words!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra