Rot, Rot, Rot, And Rot Poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma

It was once a pride and beauty, but now the fire is dying;
My people and cows are old, too old for crying.
Men, whose deep passion sets the spirit flying,
Is soon too lame to march, too cold for trying.

I take the book and sit to the fire,
Turning old dead pages; minute by minute
The clock ticks to my heart. A withered wire,
Moves a thin ghost of music in the heart.

Sick of sailing the ship, I cannot wander
In your meadows, nor your hills, nor your valleys;
Ever again, nor share the modern wonder,
Where the brutal tyrants break the nationalists’ rallies.

Remain silent while my mind remembers
The past glory from the beauty of embers.
Lost beauty, have pity! For the looters have power,
The wrongs have wealth, the ugly have tower.

Summer of man its sunlight and its bond,
Spring-time of man, all sad, no glad,
Only, as in the crowd jostling in the Ground,
Where the warriors thrusts, or bursts, or is loud,

With my old saint, - I love him till my last breath,
Even in my grieves, I have childhood’s faith,
I love him fully, as I put to wreath;
I shall be with him even after my death.