Unkind Delhi Poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma

Slow, Slow, O Winter Wind
Slow, Slow, O Winter Kind
Your blow is not so wicked
As man's ferociousness;
Your bite is not so intense,
Because your chill freezes sense,
And your gust has wilderness.

High and high engulfing dot
Entire plain and valley;
No alliance with caring lot
Indulging more and more folly:
The more high, the more unholy!
There life is loose morally.

Freeze, Freeze your harsh cry,
But does not pain so deep and high
As man's unkindest piercing rod,
Painful enough to smash all,
But your sting is not so sharp and tall,
As not to fear and bear in mind.

The sad Jamuna is in tears,
For the fate of poor lass bears,
Poor wretch-no friend here,
But all are there to puncture,
For that unique charm of feature,
If be open, all dive to thee to rupture.

Save, save, me, your daughter cry,
Creator of this universe fine,
Crown or power, all my line;
Love me; pity me, O Heaven's own white,
Angels, stainless bride of a king bright,
O help me, yield me, protect my innocence,
Among the brutes' vengeance.