The smoke struggles to rise
Thickened and blackened by all our vice
Air water and sound pollution
Can be dealt,
But that illusion of mind
Can we really melt?
People big and small racing up to their work
In search of money, fame and luck
Seeking the decree of degrees paying a big buck
To claim the glory of attainment that we never duck
At ethics and humanities we throw muck
In the name of honour and prestige
But with no vestige
Of remorse or empathy,
In horror and apathy we gape
And sympathise oh it is a rape
Is it because she did not drape?
Or is it because of red-tape?
Which let them all escape.
Images of nude mutilated and battered women we share
Spreading gory pandemonium as if to scare
And say we care,
On witnessing a sneering glare
Or a jeering at some unholy square
Do we really dare not to spare
That mental pollution
To give every girl every woman a soothing solution
Or do we still live in an illusion
In the name of saving our skin
Wandering in life akin to a lifeless ghoul
Devoid of any inner soul
When morals go insane breathing is a bane
Hiding pain in the long mane of lawlessness in vein
Waiting for the black smoke to disperse when
The thick soot of vice lies deep rooted within so fierce.
(This post can be originally read at Pollution: With a difference)
Desi Herald 