Hurricanes of Paradox.

A series of turbulent hurricanes,
Uprooted not only trees but also statues;
Statues of mortals as well as Gods,
Raised tall,taller and the tallest,
Crumbled to the bottom of history.
History made a huge loud laugh, 
Huger and louder,than the hurricanes,
Heckling the hands that rewrote its pages.

Truth flexes its muscles against falsehood, 
Even in dreams,because dream boats sail 
In shadow waters,spinning shallow stories.
History is a tree hailing from the soil of facts;
Not one,planted by wild gadgets of graphics, 
Morphing mock roots,through magic flicks. 
The hard pages of history will hardly include,
Events of falsehood,corrupting files of facts.

Shrines of different faiths solidly swear to shift
Each other's base,in a successive,religious rift.
Graphic hurricanes graft a gargantuan wedge,
Between faith and facts,on a risky razor's edge.
Religion and history never ravish from rubbish.
Paradox can not foul facts,from motives selfish.
Factors of faith have flourished against all odds;
As history has withstood,the onslaught of frauds. 
P. Chandrasekaran