Lest man, not outlast, epoch of stone
So chisel, from his fear, his pride’s paradigm
See petrified presidents, left, to atone
To weather, all alone, vagaries of time!
Whilst rush, many more, to this, fest of façades
Few fancy to be, the next, in queue
“There’s still, some space, left to, fit my charades”
That glory, is just true, which is naked, to the view!
Lo and behold! Democracy’s, Stony Shrine!
Or tomb of, faith’s legacy, lost to past
Can tourism, to tokenism, alone redefine
New polity’s, aftermath, we despair, aghast!
Trump would, be there, indeed one day
For he, sold America, like never before
Lest democracy’s, doggerel, diminish and decay:
‘One More Metaphor, O’er Mount Rushmore!’
© 2020 Vikas Chandra