When titular heads and foreigners held the reigns
People suffering agony, grief and penury
Couldn’t even raise voices
The foreign yoke was blown out by our own leaders
Hopes and ambitions unfurled from the ramparts of Red Fort
People thought - golden era has been ushered in
All would get roti, kapdaaur makaan
Somewhere things and times too went wrong and awry
Leaders sprouted with ambitions of power and pelf
Feathered their own nests, with kinships in caste and creed
The hungry looked up with anguish but were not fed
Misrule and money-madness drove away values
People have only themselves to guard
Elections are won with liquor bottles
Gandhi cannot be born again
God cannot be expected to take yet another avatar
Faith lost, nothing is sacrosanct any longer
Sanctums are ransacked
Hooligans and vandals break god’s statues
Temples are robbed and rampaged
Hundis are stolen - even god’s ornaments are pillaged
‘The centre cannot hold, things are falling apart’
Corruption cannot be wiped out by the corrupt
In conflagration, one fire cannot put out another
Saints, sages and seers avoided lucre
Taught and trained their disciples the dignity of poverty
A politician in power rues in bitter agony:
‘How can I win without money?’
