This is capital city, Delhi;
Nation’s heartless, concrete jungle,
Where ideas puff out toxic fumes,
Furnace of dreams and civilizations;
Where emotionless, blank, humans dwell.
Where conspiracies are hatched in graves,
And bless the brute neo-riches,
Manufactured by Lalus, Mulayams, Mayas.
But the people in rags and tatters,
Cultivated by Kejris, Medhas, Marx, Lohiyas;
Running for freebies and rot;
Making them perpetual beggars.
Here lies the never ending clusters,
Illegal, unauthorized;
Filled with mud, filth and fumes venomous.
Inhibited by souls lethargic, languid;
Always stare things beautiful and luxurious;
But all for free.
Smoke, filth, mud, dirty water;
Turned their belly into an inferno,
Ready to swallow every thing.
Here painted maidens smile,
For a price and gratification.
Vice is honored as merit,
But merit dies unknown, unattended.
And we are moving in a lorry,
Whose driver is an impostor beguiled as crusader.
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