“How many, half-truths, make up, a lie
How many lies, devise, a propaganda
Sin, sums up, when you, multiply
Truth’s, last hurrah; ethnic faux pas!”

“I scrawl graffitis, on every, damn wall
Nor, moral fences, I dare, ever spare
No control, knows satire, nor protocol
Just, prudent impudence, laid out, stark bare!”

“I pride myself, in their, ‘prejudice’
So be it, what they, think of me
How benign, is the bliss, of my ‘malice’
That tears, to shreds, fallacies’ decree!”

“Am I, Satan’s Son, or, Bane of God!
Jurisprudence, found its, alchemist
Seeding ethics, in an, ethos flawed
Is The Sin, Of The, Satirist!“

© 2020 Vikas Chandra