What is this world

Foul mouth, pretence and play

Here all are clay moulds

Neigh an inch of truth or fair-play

The heart is a mile away

Good men sit in the devil’s lair

Mind is a Luciferian den

Not an inch of truth anywhere

Its a tall jungle of wild grass

Housing snakes and cobwebs

You play devil’s advocate

so delusive life or disguised death?

Goodwill is dwindling like forests

With police prosecuting the culpable

Pigeons are new-year’s cuckoo birds

Not an inch of truth perceivable

– Akanksha Gupta