From A Crumbling Tavern Poem by Ravi Panamanna

No nation prospers
If she loses her character.
Man has to be proper
Else; our days are to be bitter.

It is a man made plight,
Man is often not upright.
Wisdom- where is the internal light?
We walk into the darkness of night.

Holy books do we possess
But where is the Man so pious?
We bark at each other's belief
And press human mind into incalculable grief.

Who really tries to help each other
Than wish to remain in power?
Out of greed nations declare war
And make millions shatter their dreams.

Our plight is so bad,
Man is often sadistic.
If blood is life’s only answer
How can man escape from terror?