Saints In A Rotten World Poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma

Here righteous man live in jail,
Because they serve the distressed, out of blues;
But here, without shame, rule, the spirit evil:
Their truth is trailed by ill-fated, dreading dues.

Poor soul, yielding nippy to blistered hate,
Pack the nation with sob and tears,
Staring at people's gloomy, sad fate;
Hides his pain for all the red years.

Grasping the ill fate, tries to gulp the rot,
So as to, lessen the befalling curse off its ill will,
Blazing his untiring body and pleading hymns to jot,
Infinity total at his brows still.

Praying that at last, pious sense prevails in sad situation,
And awaken some sense in senseless dell,
Pained to see about helpless fears in all perception,
So as now a star may well breathe, and breathe well.

Solitary qualm of vice must pass away without a trace,
Unbolt such an opening, and Shiva must thunder in,
To annihilate all the sins and sinners with might pace,
And love replace hate and death replace by life within.