This winter, sowed, a Slavic sin
Nurtured, by snow, and an inferno
With love, Putin has, couriered coffin
For, every Ukrainian, from Moscow!
There is, more gore, on Kiev’s streets
Than, political pride, and insolence
Of men, who weigh, by wins, and defeats
A nation’s, ethnic, existence!
This spring, may bring, to the, haunted isle
New conquest, between, present and past
Thanks to, Jinping’s, inglorious guile
Spurred by, his Russianm iconoclast!
History is, an invention, of those
Who write, blood-epics, unlike, Shakespeare
If present, is, what past, bestows
Our Future, Has A, Lot To Fear!
© 2022 Vikas Chandra