“Do drifters, have an, existence!
Rootless souls, in an, estranged land
Unsuckled dreams, slitting thru, my barbed fence
As I savor them, tearing, strand by strand!

Well! I’ve got, many dreams, to feed
To suckle strays, would be, blasphemy
Why I bear, the brunt, of that banished breed
Which ain’t Buddhist, but forsaken Islami!

Our pigs, don’t breed, like they proliferate
Genetic, geopolitical, conjectures!
History, ain’t theirs, so why, debate
The future, of these, caricatures!

My junta, knows how to, make them sleep
In the graves, of my, political alibi
The more, they sow, the more we reap”
Lo and behold, A Stepmother’s Lullaby!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra