Dr. Yogesh Sharma
Genocide Of Pundits - Poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma
Sigris were cold in pundit hamlets,
People here were fuels to jihadi guns,
Wailing widows crying for slaughtered kins.
Terrified returning homeward their tired way,
As world a towering inferno to them.
The air was carrying a sad silent tone,
Weeping birds complain to moon and stars
Crying about the lost ones,
Who will never be seen again,
No memorials erected for those slaughtered,
As they were not mad vote machines.
In that method less madness,
Some might have slaughtered with a fire within,
Or arms that might have raised an empire,
Or hands that might have rocked the oceans,
Some great Vivekanand might be there,
Or some cherished Tendulkar,
Might have lost his blood.
All merit they had but sad fate,
Slaughtered for a status and crown
And their shivering bones remained,
Unprotected from insult and bloodbath.
Let not power mock their toll,
Sad destiny and remorseful smile,
And rude kotwals of secular trade dancing,
Multicultural dons will remain their,
To curse names and race for their trade
Bestowed with a treasure hidden.
On unclaimed pyre lie their corpses,
Unfortunate, cursed and unattended,
Nation mocking their poor faith,
Alas! Poor pundits of Death Valley.
DR. YOGESH SHARMA
Comments about Genocide Of Pundits by Dr. Yogesh Sharma
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You