The Inoculator Poem by HIMAvinandan D'Costa-Roy I

How many were you born?
Therefrom all do you scorn?
Whom did you fool that those are there?
Whose all are those lights crammed where?
What find you separate?
How much of you ate?
Why the same are you still now?
Or where would you keep that wicked sow?
Which time do you say worth, such?
Where is what you'd always touch?
Did you chancefully find grace of my God?
And did you give up this kind of fraud?
Vile conspiracy, then, so against you?
Mustn't you remember upto your death, you fool?
Poor empathy, now you recede.
My dears, yet again we succeed.