THE PENTE-RASCALS

At noon, in turbans grand, they pray, Quoting Qur’an, Hadith, and Salat al-Ayat. They pose as peace’s noble agents, yet By dusk, as marauders, their truth is set.

The miracle hawkers, with tongues bizarre, Trade their Lent to Lucifer, their star. In suits or robes, with Bible and rosary, They mask as saints but weave treachery.

These bitter seeds, sown deep in our land, Stoke fratricide with a venomous hand. Corruption, bigotry, their creeds unfold, Disciples forged in malice, hearts grown cold.

Yet the world still clings to fleeting hope, Though drained by lies, they blindly cope. Seeing pente-rascals in halls of might, Can good arise from those who scorn our light?