The crowd trembling with death,
Humanity dies in the bleeding of sadness!
If death is an art, then where is that art?
The art of death is rare today.
Our royal leaders are intoxicating in the power,
Gambling of human's lives!
Numb humanity in shock.
The freedom is brutally raped by those royal leaders,
Carolling Democracy counting for its demolishing!
In the midst of the disaster, the stammering of the
abstract people,
But where is the guardian? Why is he numb?
There is no time to hear the latent guardian of a
vanished democracy!
Humanity is destroyed by the conceited guardian.
This democracy is the result of a long sacrifice
cycle,
Today, people's blood is in colour
Trembling with the noise of untimely death.
The conceited guardian killed those people,
Intense cold bodies are screaming for self-respect!
Were those being the dream of our democracy?
Today freedom is the showpiece of our Democratic
Museum.
By auctioning people's dream,
Guardian is busy in his dream urban construction.
Perverted democracy crushes every pillar,
The market is auctioning the value of human life!
In the shrieking of death numbed all around,
In the pyre of the crematorium, Human life is
screaming for humanity!
ණRupjyoti
Picture courtesy: Puspanjali Malakar
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