Mohammad gapes, with his, splintered eyes
At the, funeral of, his last heir
And then, hears the psalm, of wailing rabbis
“Is our existence, faith’s satire…!”

“Where are, those Arabs, who swore by us
No more Muslims, half Jews, they are!
Israel was, never, so obnoxious
As our brothers, selling faith, in oil-bazaar!”

“Hamas was dead, on the day, it said –
“Brothers! Martyr your son’s, for Intifada”
They sold, our land, our dreams instead
For our, fanatic fear, of faith’s fatwa!”

“Bereaved is heart, more than, our hearth
With a Brotherhood, that lost, its spine
Yet we, farm martyrs, with faith’s dearth
For Our, Lonely War, Of Palestine!”

© 2018 Vikas Chandra