Riddle me this, riddle me that
What is the poetry, of a pious little twat?
Safe in his house, and not crushed on a cross
By 3 Nails.

Who is the third that walks beside a narcissist?

What have you done to the Gospels’ account?
Did you dish the book out?
Are your Marxist leanings weaning?
Is you a capitalist with the strength of a black fist?
Can you dance like a Punjabi with swords in Penzance?

I am a music man, I come from Pakistan…
And it isn’t droned. Drone?
The Dronacharya.
Acharya.
Acharya…
.. E. I. … Ooolo Ka Patha!

The finery,
The Winery.
Slimer’s ‘Ghostbusters’ Slimer same and the old story.

Radio and the new wave.  
The subtle things that ‘God’ does not know.

AI Summary

It’s a poem that fires questions like darts at religion, politics, identity, and performance — mocking piety, interrogating power, and mixing scripture with satire, diaspora humour, and pop‑culture ghosts. The speaker ricochets from Gospels to Marxism, from Punjabi sword‑dancing to Ghostbusters slime, exposing how belief, culture, and ego all collapse into one chaotic riddle. It becomes a portrait of someone using wit and provocation to peel back the subtle things even “God” doesn’t know.