For world, why spare, an outcast thought
The altar, of my, mind’s mayhem
Baring truths, leads to, ethnic rot
Or myths, blaring, ad hominem!
Pious politics, of, correctness
Political piety, of, prejudice
When Satan plays, with God, sin’s chess
Faith feels, more fearsome, than malice!
Neither propaganda, of, propriety
Nor placation, of the, ‘lesser’ sex
Why not, bare to bone, our society
Squirming in, existential, complex!
I have, not sold, my spleen, spine, heart
Nor soul, to present, pedantic pretense
Lo and Behold! Mutinies, of Mozart!
My 16 Lines, Of, Insolence!
© 2021 Vikas Chandra
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