If the words are critical reflections

Their reflections may be offending and scathing

At least they speak the truth

A much-awaited reprieve from the hackneyed

There is no use postponing the truth

When it is known, yet, ignored

What foolishness

Allowing lies to weave cobwebs

Like wily and patient spiders 

Waiting to impale the truth 

Suck out the juices and create morsels

Gulping them down with relish

Still, being critical saves the day

From frivolousness of lies

How eloquent they have become

A skill perfected and shown off with elan

But the honest critic is reprimanded

Seen with disgust and distrust

It’s the sycophancy and idiosyncracies

Having a party and raving about it


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