Quotas and quotas,
The swelling of sluggishness, digging the nation down,
Never ending holocaust and depression,
For merit and excellence.
Here the Koel stammers its dying throat,
Here the naught smells all the flowers,
Here great gurus and scholars are unemployed,
Dying un-noticed and un-recognized.
Here pot-bellied Buddha only smiles,
On this game of death.
In this sleeping nation,
The great all – all knowing,
Know nothing,
Who remembering the dark days,
Shown by false Messiah V.P.Singh,
Who declared merit a curse,
To be zero, a hero but with a tag of quota.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem