By JH Sayyar
O double-tongued whisper, masked in grace,
Thou silver serpent slips through the truth,
With honeyed lies dost thou the just displace,
And steal the crown from merit’s brow in youth.
Thy breath is sweet, yet poisons what is pure,
Thy smile a veil for daggers in the shade;
The hearts that trust thee seldom find a cure
By thy charming falsehoods they're betrayed.
Thou build on sand and call it marble strong,
Then mock the fall as if it were not thine;
Thy promises are threads that break ere long,
And yet the world still drinks thy sugared wine.
But truth shall rise, though buried by thy hand
A flame no storm of shadows may withstand.
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