I hear the hammers on the busy street Pounding out another day of toil I see the motorcycles streaming past All India seems at once to spoil
Her earth with urine and disposable waste. Will she one day recover beauty as before When temples rose and gods and angels heard The chant of OM so powerful and pure
And prayer most genuine on her soil reigned. What we need most is to surrender all The things called wealth we cherish and adore The gold, the baubles accumulated, or fall
Prey to forces intent to stay the Word, The silent voice we once in stillness heard.
Poems Undated (1727)
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