An
(imaginary) satirical elegy on the death of many .
Alas!
Countless there are, closer to Breathless
sleep,
Nay,possibly, wriggling in acute pain, wreath in vain.
Perhaps, pretending, pining, ailing, counting coins Gold ,
Cut
Groining and moiling
,wishing for some more hard work,
More
luxury, more homes, more infrastructure.
Gripped the victims
by hoops of praise
and flattery.
Hard hearted, holding their
hearts coughing,
Wishing for
more Gold and
Silver in their coffers,
Do
they call the
gods to aid
them?
Hare
Krishna ,Hare Rama, where are
you?
No Rama ,or Krishna comes
to their rescue,
For hitherto those vile,
denigrated Their existence.
Nay! every word
uttered
Or
muttered is a sly curse
or vituperation.
Some seem to
smile, or awakened,
Do they
realize how many they would have
Strangled,
killed alive in
life span.
A sheer
sadism they delighted in.
A mighty
armour for them to wear.
Gather here, all the
onlookers,
Behold!
how arrogance and ambition suffer,
Harsh
tongues, silent manoeuvres
Gain
them their dues.
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