Ain’t present, a myth of, past’s every lie
And future, belief in, the same enigma
What a, worthless labor, is to, live and die
To be, one day, history’s stigma!
On, jaundiced pages, of lost times
Who graffitied, propaganda, of those
Who dictate, still, our life’s, paradigms
Our faith, and fear, and, all our woes!
Why wars, were waged, to glorify
And baptize, our ethos, by bloodbaths
When a bigot, was let, to deny
Stark legacy, of their, aftermaths!
Neither artist, nor, an alchemist
But a, prejudiced, political snob
A time-honored, humanist, heist
History, Is A, Holy, Henchman’s Job!
© 2022 Vikas Chandra