A ‘Colonial Lore’, it ain’t, anymore
But, the cause, of our, estranged ethos
In quest, of that, perfect metaphor
That, manifests pathos, of a, profound loss!
“Your language, smells like, staling bread”
And, sounds like, funeral, of monsoon”
Was the, satire, one White soul, had
For a bard, lost between, a bane, and a boon!
“You speak, in, scattered, para-phrases!”
Was, the sentence, of a, White pretense
Have I lost, in my, lingual chases
All impressions, that, once made sense!
My heresy, in English, knows no fear
For, I am, no servant, of, Shakespeare!
“Black minds, must learn, White semantics
To tell, buffalo, from, Michael Angelo”
I am content, with my, Raw Romantics
With the, Few English, Expressions, I Know!
© 2023 Vikas Chandra