Stories on faith seem so meaningless,
Hypocrites run around so free and fearless,
It’s the era of manipulative monks my friend,
Trust at your own risk, words of a menace.
Truth seems paralyzed,
The poison of lie has potency so high,
Every face has grin to greet,
Inside there is a soul rapped in black perfectly.
Greenhorns suffer the most at first,
They get shatter, torn into pieces apart,
From those pieces are born,
Either a saint or another
manipulative monk.
It’s a tragedy, a matter of grief,
Trust is turning into a myth under modesty,
Saints turn into martyr for honesty,
Sinners gain license for hospitality.
Let’s just stop and think for a while,
Whether we harbor a sinner or a saint,
Are we part of the contagious chain????
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