Delhi

I loiter through each chaotic but crowded street,

Near there ugly but once pious Yamuna blow,

I saw the pain on every face I meet and greet,

Saw wrinkles of exhaustion and strain of woe. 

In every a tear of each human,

In every shrill of every child in fear,

In each scary voice, in every nook and turn,   

The disturbing hunger and terror, I hear.

How the fake learner dying for freebies high;

Every charted institution brutally trolls,

And the nationalist and brave soldiers sigh,

Walls of high rising splattered in blood boils.

But in the dark midnight, in a garden, I hear,

How the covered Harlots, veiled sit in, rejoice,

Laughs at the pains of commuters tear,

And enjoys with the plague of a secular curse.