“Sever the wind pipe…, spare the spine…”
Oh! The rites, to slay a soul, virtuously
One and half millennium, of a bloodline
Spent in fests of blood, so abysmally!
Spectacle of death, in faith’s throes
Behold surrogate ‘martyrs’, bathed in gore
Amidst azan, a scream echoes
“Which faith are we, which sin we swore!”
Sprawled out, in the midst, of believers
Nay spectators, of a blessed butchery
Can sadist be, a holy verse
A pious insult, to a soulful injury!
Yes! Piety is a fear, for us, them too
So who is a more, who less a wraith
Why we baptize, a vain bugaboo
With the Satanic Shades Of Faith!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra