Worn Torn Delhi Poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma

June is the month cruelest,
River burnt out, parched land deadliest.
Dry leaves, writhing in pain,
Gleans from the faces drain.

On the barren ground, I stand lifeless,
Baked, cracked and waterless,
Legs, back, breath all worn out,
No spirit to raise heart torn out.

On the west bank of rotten Yamuna, pebbles,
Scattered high of bulldozed temples,
Garbage, filth, flies, never ending strife,
Wasted and lost in wild cries, dream and life.

Broken and jammed roads, miles and miles,
Youth trampled in boiling day and dusty files.
Million intruder, thousands beggars hungry,
Mad and wild for any penury.

Here pain is an endless passion,
Here joy is treason,
Here tears of agony fetch no healing,
Here powerful are corrupt and stealing,

Here decent man suffer most,
Here merit and enlightenment suffer worst,
Here faith of brotherhood ferry violence,
Here love is fixed for a price.

Hunger, thirst, pain, anguish,
On faces of worn torn Delhi languish,
Whites long ago vented it on majestic Thames bank,
Nation is known for high hullabaloo rank.

O! Delhi, sitting on inferno vile,
You must be fair to your rank and file,
This nation crowed up by you and your band,
As a happy and wealthy dreamland.

All but a false claim,
Where joy, love, light is in drain,
And people are here as in a dark land,
Wiped out by corrupt, ignorant and arrogant lords.
FROM:
DR. YOGESH SHARMA