Six feet underneath,
A dead saint exasperated.
A slender piece of red cloth,
Fluttered on a wall.
A knot under his watch,
Will never be untied now.
How he bears,
Half hearted wishes people hurriedly make.
As if the earth and chadars don't weigh enough,
He is choked to death time and again,
In an endless cycle,
By ephemeral desires of evanescent devotees,
Masked under the veil of a holy prayer,
A prayer that's as good as their words,
Hollow, shallow and always superficial.
The sanctity of his legacy under threat,
He might just close his doors to all this hypocrisy.
A dead saint exasperated.
A slender piece of red cloth,
Fluttered on a wall.
A knot under his watch,
Will never be untied now.
How he bears,
Half hearted wishes people hurriedly make.
As if the earth and chadars don't weigh enough,
He is choked to death time and again,
In an endless cycle,
By ephemeral desires of evanescent devotees,
Masked under the veil of a holy prayer,
A prayer that's as good as their words,
Hollow, shallow and always superficial.
The sanctity of his legacy under threat,
He might just close his doors to all this hypocrisy.