“I Do Not, Want This, So-Called Peace”
Sighs Uzra, at her misery’s, manly enigma
A state’s relapse, to, Taliban-Disease
Is beyond, faith’s fear, an ethnic, stigma!

Trump had, to keep, his poll-promise
“We’ll get, our sons, out of, harm’s way”
To leave, behind them, farms of malice
For a, new yield of, faith and, fear’s melee!

Men! Grow whiskers; Women! Wear black shrouds
Be, buried beneath, faith’s tomb, of shame
To be, ravished, trampled, then stoned, by crowds
And be, pawns of fear, in Taliban’s, evil game!

Not for, future’s hope, but, fear’s Dark Age
Afghan ethos, echoes, past’s, pious pain
Every heart(h), will mourn, a mother’s outrage
When The, Satan’s Sons, Return To Reign!

© 2020 Vikas Chandra