Modern Indian Youth And Life Poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma

In this fast running-super hyped and aimless life,
Modern Indian youth is muddled in the rot and strife.
Where the pervert leaders prescribe the set of morals,
And talk senseless and pretend busy to sing carols.

Mock and curse the spiritual world,
Encourage dispirited tendencies to herald,
Youth take the world as a failed game,
He takes the life as fake and empty frame.

Looting wealth is the prime value of life,
Enjoying luxuries are main motive of all the hype,
Faith in money makes the mayor go,
Is the cruelest blow of life’s glow.

For life means luck, and not to creep through hole,
with track of life rough that a man can trust with mole;
All through life in heat and cold - when head is on the track -
With empty stomachs and cracked feet, has to crawl on back.

Disheveled hair, and slipping robes,
In the pursuit of sex run amok the globe.
Alienation and isolation are crazy masters of time,
Always he is lost in the sound and fury of chime.

The old values lost, and the new not taken well,
The warmth spent that the runner lives in hell,
And the roots all cut out and enjoy no clout;
And the time had come, as the running youth faded out

Ready to hide from the realities, when the path is tough,
No caring soul to know or ask if dies on the path, rough.
The modern poor of this world have no pal, no matter how much he talks,
But only God and the fate knows how a poor man walks.

Crying and begging his way in a wasteland,
and lived like an urchin, in an uncharted sand;
But youths are many, and inns are full, and no space in line-
The traveler never move hands in tune fine

He dreams a lot but no care for aging parents and kids;
All the time right is wrongs and wrong is right in the mind,
And loose tongues is filled with filthy words -
When the poor soul is happy away from home, and senseless to the world.

In hostile noons when his back was burning by his own weight,
And the air seemed butcher like dark height:
For his sins, are trembling his knees,
No body to be blamed and no space to flee.

Dirt, careless and brands he wears, as his weird world grew dim;
depressed for years till decides to unburden, the burden of him.
As a tortoise crawls in the marshy land, but futile chase the wet track,
without a positive note reaches the hearth when the sun went back.

It chanced one day, when the Wild West wind flow
His face like a furnace-blow,
He rushed to a track he knew not – hugged the short-cut to his end;
for the bed of the life horned and hard, and full of crack, and no mend.

A dry passer by passed, but the touch of love was far many a mile;
He never talked the poor soul he saw, for it was not worth his smile.
The life is full and stakes high in the chase of life,
but for those bones that faces all the strife.

For life means positivism and ramp must smooth and high,
where the hearth and crags are happy and wide,
with rarely a mate that a man can trust, or a race to shore;
All through life in the flies and heat, the soul tore.

Modern Indian youth is tired, defeated, trapped, and feared self,
Always stressed and hard pressed looking for help,
Follow culture, values and discipline like Lord Ram,
Forget the entire curse; enjoy life and its drama.