A Storm May Strike Poem by Mehta Hasmukh Amathaal

Decadence of night with alarming sound,
Cries all over in streets and gathering round,
Final calls buzz and hectic activities around,
Relatives cry break their heads on the ground,

Somebody lost son and only bread winner,
All curse and punishment for guilty sooner
No blessings for wrong doers and sinner,
Air too has become slow and thinner,

Their cry may be lost in wilderness,
Life may be reduced from something to nothingness,
Gloom may forecast and descend for days to come,
How anybody can think of good and welcome?

Only two hundred forty people died,
Many more names may be lied,
Millions of tear drops may be dried,
Countless families bereaved and for the days cried,

Only place in country for nation’s father,
World learnt a lesson and moved further,
Mourning death on count of spurious liquor
No one knows who was their mentor

Humanity shames and cry every year,
No steps are taken and falling on deaf ears,
who does bother and takes care?
No sympathy but consolation only thread bare,

Countless may die still more,
It has happened not today but also this before,
Shedding false tears and offering solace,
Huts may be burnt but not the palace,

Rich can afford the luxury of drinks,
May loose little mind at home and sink,
Where does poor go and enjoy?
No one thinks about them to offer the joy

Mafias, dons and hooch kings strive,
Extract more to flourish and thrive,
Some may be put behind bars and rounded up,
May be treated as simple incidence as storm in tea cup