By Eiffel, all those, twilight trysts
Are bygones, lost in, skits galore
Since Islamists, turned, alchemists
Love-polis means, l’amour, no more!
Sans azan, were heard, “Allahu Akbars…”
When Satan’s sons, unleashed, that hate
Farmed, by faith, fostered, by fear
Baptized, by blood, satirized, by tears
They set out, to found, Islamic State!
Europe is a misery, of its, own making
For she pitied, a herd of, thankless strays
Whom their, Arab brethren, love forsaking
World watches, aghast, their moral malaise!
Eiffel’s now, a tomb of, ethnic quests
For existence, with a, lasting pain
Where bad-blood spills, over, creeds’ conquests
That Paris Won’t, Be, Same Again!
© 2020 Vikas Chandra