Our ethnic salt, our, households’ bread
And, a legacy, that, tethers the two
The lasting fear, in, faith’s farmstead
Is the, Holy Grail, hard to, eschew!

In the prison, of our, pious lies
Bequeathed, by prejudice, of our pride
Our truths, pay their, political price
Who make us, martyrs, ‘glorified’!

Blood is, the bargain’s, currency
Harmony, is a, hard-fought, enigma
After, loving hate, like lunacy
We cherish, the fruits, of, war’s stigma!

Seeds of faith, sprout from, fear’s holy dust
There’s, no panacea, for, hate’s disease
Since our, twisted ethos, loves, blood-lust
There Ain’t, Ever, Straight Roads, To Peace!

© 2022 Vikas Chandra