Comparative Monstrosity
Baba Yaga’s a hideous witch.
Baked baby’s her favorite dish.
One of her legs is bare bone.
She lives in a fey mobile home:
A hut that on chicken legs walks
As the children of Russia she stalks.
Even worse, she can take to the sky
In a pestle that’s able to fly.
In India, Kali’s just as grim.
Death’s Goddess, your chances are slim
If you rouse her black anger through vanity.
It would be the height of inanity
To beg her for mercy; she hates
Anybody who questions their fate.
Do not meddle with karma or flout
Her rules, for she will rub you out.
Modern Russia’s got KGB Vlad
Whose habits are damn near as bad
As old Baba Yaga’s: all those
Who say nyet he writes off as his foes,
And they die in mysterious ways,
So the Russians all do as he says.
His Curtain’s not Iron, it’s steel,
And dissent is ground under his heel.
Narandra Modi’s quite clear
About the direction he’ll steer
The entire Sub-Continent: right,
And straight into a terrible fight.
To shove Muslims back to the rear,
So that Hindus have nothing to fear.
Persecution? No, no, just a word
To the wise: there can be no accord
With the Brahmins as long as there’s spilling
Of infidel blood in mass killing.
And what of the U. S. of A?
Can Biden declare a new day
Of peace and equality, or
Will things stay the same as before?
Can Trump manage to stay out of jail
Now the RNC’s going his bail?
Are we doomed to a new Civil War?
Is uncertainty all that’s in store?
Well, we live in an interesting time
When nothing pays better than crime.