🇮🇳The Wealth That Cannot Be Bought Poem by Pushp Sirohi

🇮🇳 "The Wealth That Cannot Be Bought"

No more I bow before a pile of gold,
No more I worship what is bought and sold;
For I have seen the richest men grow weak—
Their eyes are tired, yet still they crave and seek.

They guard their treasures like a life of breath,
But wealth is helpless in the hands of death.
It shines at night, then fades by morning's light—
A borrowed crown that never sits on right.

O restless soul, why chain your hope to dust?
Why kneel to greed, to hunger, and to lust?
The heart that hoards is never truly full—
It drinks and drinks, yet stays forever dull.

Tell me—can gold buy heaven's holy gate?
Can it rewrite the script of human fate?
Can it delay the mortal closing hour
Or cancel pain by any shining power?

No.
Gold cannot stop the final fall,
It cannot hear the soul's last call;
It cannot heal a broken name,
It cannot light the inner flame.

And tell me—can love be bought in coins?
Do honest hearts live priced in counting joins?
Can friendship's warmth be traded in a mart
Like lifeless things that never had a heart?

No.
True love is never purchased, never bent—
It comes from purity and deep intent.
Friendship is forged in storms, not in a hall;
It rises when your world begins to fall.

Gold may gather crowds who clap and cheer,
But vanish when the truth is sharp and near.
In desperate nights, when masks are torn apart,
Only the loyal stand beside your heart.

I am from the land where dharma breathes—
Where honor lives in what a man believes.
Where mothers bless the courage of their son,
And teach him: "Life is duty—never run."

I am the voice of Bharat's ancient fire,
A flame that rises higher, ever higher;
I do not measure greatness by your vault—
But by the strength to rise beyond your fault.

Because virtue is the wealth that cannot rot,
The treasure time and thieves can touch not.
A clean conscience—brighter than the sun,
A fearless truth—when all the wars are won.

Let kings parade in jewels, proud and loud,
Their silken pride wrapped tightly in a crowd;
But when the last dusk swallows their delight,
They tremble too—alone in endless night.

For power without purpose becomes fear,
And greed becomes the prison we must bear.
The palace turns to ashes in the wind—
Only character survives what life has sinned.

O man! wake up—this life is not a race
To build your ego in a golden place.
What will you carry when the world is gone?
Only your deeds… the truth you stood upon.

Choose wisdom—walk the path of higher view,
Where science shines and discipline is true;
Where art becomes a mirror of the soul,
And moral light makes broken spirits whole.

Choose laughter that is clean, and peace that lasts,
Not fleeting thrills that die when moments pass.
Choose love that builds, not love that comes to steal;
Love that can heal you… not love you cannot feel.

And if you hold a sword—hold it with grace,
Not to oppress, but to protect your place.
Because restraint is strength in warrior blood,
And courage serves humanity, not mud.

I have seen miners dig the earth for gold,
And hands grow rough, and stories grow old;
I do not scorn the labor of that clay—
I scorn the greed that sells the soul away.

I scorn the man who trades his mother's pride
For cheap applause, for riches and for lies.
I scorn the man who bends where cowards kneel—
For truth is not a bargain you can seal.

So let me speak—
as thunder speaks to rain,
As courage speaks to every chain:

Gold can't buy peace inside your chest,
Gold can't grant a spirit rest.
Gold can't erase the guilty nights,
Gold can't turn wrong into rights.

But honor can.
Virtue can.
Truth can.
Love can.

And that is why I choose to stand tall—
Not for wealth, not for rise and fall;
But for the legacy that doesn't fade,
For the mark that brave souls leave unafraid.

I want a name that shines when I am gone,
Not in a bank… but in the dawn.
A name that echoes in the nation's pride,
A name that walks with dharma by its side.

So hear me—
I am not made of fragile desire,
I am not built of temporary fire.
I am a promise carved in storm and stone—
A soldier of truth, standing alone.

And if the world asks who I am today—
I answer like a war drum in the fray:

I am Pushp Sirohi, Bharat's son,
I fear no greed, I fear no one.
Let coins remain with those who sell—
My wealth is honor… and I wear it well. - Pushp Sirohi