Awash are streets, with the, fear’s substance
Which spills, from the veins, of wounded faith
The myth, of that peace, hangs, in balance
Who strays, thru the dead, like a, lunatic wraith!
Many more mournings, rend, riddled heart
Struck by, the blitzkrieg, of new hate
That brotherhood, now lay, torn apart
Blood-bargained, to end, last stalemate!
Who owns, the ethos, of this land
Who owns, the land, of this ethos
A name, seems written, in time’s sand
Which changes, when, nobody knows!
Whose history, prophecy, should outlast
Whose fear, should pay, whose faith’s, holy toll
Shrouded in, sacrament, of lost past
Ethnic Shreds, Of A, Nation’s Soul!
© 2021 Vikas Chandra