From charred Qurans, to Muhammad’s toons
That Nazi blood, still seethes within!
She measures, their bile, with coffee spoons
Who brandish, their faith, out of their skin!
A mother, of two, stubborn enigmas
Embroiled in a, battle of, existence
Can’t help, but grieve, that faith alas
Which defies, fanatics’ commonsense!
“Islam ain’t ours…!” your senator says
Is that the truth, of your façade!
Are Arab nomads, just vote-bases
For the glory, of your rodomontade!
A bitter recall, of the, last crusade
Adds bad-blood, to this, faiths’ chagrin
She plays with, two fears, dumb charade
Lo and behold! Angela’s Sin!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra