With mortal faith, immortal fear
A race has forgotten its face
Where all the caravans disappear
At the end of their ethnic chase!

In mortar coffins live their dreams
Whose ethos dissolved in dilemma
Resents the present their past redeems
Thru a lasting lingering miasma!

Whom I called comrades and my kin
Turned out to be strangers always
“Ain’t there virtue in an ethnic sin”
The pursuit of a pilgrim says!

In the hands of a puppeteer
A mob is no mean masterstroke
A million mutinies they bear
All The Shadows Lost In Smoke!

© 2023 Vikas Chandra