Silhouette Of Dearth
Beneath the scorched strata recline, thirsty,
Pining for, the minuscule embryonic pip'
To shoot out and reach the firmament;
For once it crop up, the verve of reprise-
Of that of the rock-strewn parched earth trounce;
Enduring and routing glisten under the hot fireball-
With ashen bough and warped leaves;
And with the honey, of its bland flowers, burnt in stages;
Bearing up every vile density,
It grows into a gargantuan tree;
Following the yawns of aeons-
Having fallen a prey to a silver axe
It's no further an animate life!
But sheets of mere degradable white;
The derelict section of our country,
Incarcerated by callous and cold poverty,
Resolve to remain a slave,
To their concealed dreams -
Censored desires -
And triumphant success,
For which they are none to blame,
Like the innocuous tree above;
Their unrivalled lives and forte,
Become so camouflaged'
Amidst the vile rule of the powerful ‘legal tender';
A prey they are, to it!
When is this going to decline?
When is India going to arise?