Polluted Nation Poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma

A pale wind, puffing from a secular hall,
Darkened the nation’s street,
Weird voices hastened and fused in the fall,
Looking at Queen’s and Prince’s familiar feet.
Everything sad and shamed spins the leaves,
The unholy rocks in the turbulent hedge,
To knock on the gate and ridge,
It will soon strip the deck and ledge.

Everything wrong, goes sighs by;
All has lost in the splashes of frosty rain,
And men stare up with scared eyes,
The wolves range are brighten again.
Ah! It is true; this is most terrific tale of all,
Seen in a tarnished-wineglasses’ casement's hue,
And encircling the Lutyens’ capital, they stall;
Makers of law ledgers are become curse to thee.

Even when the blustery weather was silent,
And the villagers swiftly on their way,
As if they had been called, and told, to rest;
Nothing looks nice and how brief their day.
Provincial, community houses blaze,
Corporations, universities, squares clang,
On fraudulent occupants, mutely gaze,
There bogus files and paper ornaments hang.

All the nation’s supermarkets on Diwali Eve,
Are stinking with rotten eggs and spiky flowers,
As scurrying buyers from the city leave,
To owl-haunted ghost towers,
And thundering clouds go tornado by,
This is the truth, no body can compare –
The many-layered Indian heart and sky,
And lives today has shrunk to bread and Wine.