Neither manifesto, nor an ad, on her walls
But the gist, of her, ethnic conjectures
Every soul squirms, as this, lizard scrawls
Leaving streaks, of, social caricatures!

Whose faith, is the sin, of satire
He fears, not God, nor Satan’s wrath
Beyond, heaven’s desire, and hellfire
A man, basks in, his charade’s, bloodbath!

A stranger lost, in a, mob of lies
Wherein, truth is, more than, a sacrilege
Is the, fact of matter, a compromise
Amidst, enigmas of, life’s pilgrimage!

Why’d, I seek forgiveness, from them
Platitudes worth, less than, my pity
Who redeems truth, from, moral mayhem
I Am, That Graffiti, Of My City!

© 2021 Vikas Chandra