Poems of Hardik Vaidya
|401.||The Color Red||2/22/2013|
|402.||The dead and their ashes.||11/14/2013|
|404.||The eagle is back||3/14/2013|
|406.||The Eternal Need||1/19/2013|
|407.||The Farmers of India||4/24/2013|
|408.||The Final Proposal||3/1/2013|
|409.||The flowers tale||8/5/2014|
|411.||The fortune maker||9/10/2014|
|412.||The Geeta In Your Kiss||5/2/2013|
|413.||The Global Crash of Religions||3/5/2013|
|415.||The impossible poem||4/7/2013|
|416.||The King of Fruits||4/14/2013|
|417.||The Least You Could Do||2/26/2013|
|418.||The life of a sales professional||3/7/2013|
|419.||The Light of India||3/5/2013|
|420.||The lone dog barks||8/1/2014|
Barbarism is the child of man not woman.
It dies a dogs death every second, when the kind awakens in men.
The pangs of labor are not unknown. They are nightmares, holocausts.
Man before being kind is stupid. To be stupid is manly to be kind is men.
Temples, churches, mosques have been defiled, idols smashed, books burned.
Ideas imprisoned, thoughts buried, minds muffled, voices muzzled.
Heads have been rolled, blood has been let from veins for vain, with mirth.
Free has been the ethic of