C. P. Sharma (July 12,1941 / Bissau, Rajasthan)

My first birth
All alone,
Monotony in it
Multiplied my clone.

A monolith now
Split into two,
The other half there
A woman to woo.

In Eden Garden
Abundance grew,
Fruit and flower
And Gracious dew.

Without villain
No suspense,
Satan came
Made life tense.

Turned Garden
Into a Ltd. Mill,
All around it
The dirt spill.

Of money and gold
A temple built,
For worshiping
The God of Guilt.

My Creation
Now at risk,
It seems now
Me Satan will frisk.