• Dhruv Sachchade


Updated: Feb 2

There’s this grain boiling for quite some time

This senile simmer of food for the soul

But this glorious celebration of man’s crime

Makes the food rotten and frivolously foul

Try to see without the eyes, without a gaze realise

The sky’s sin, so high above the lies

That the sky’s men try too much to normalise

For which they beat down anyone else who cries

And cannibal desires dressed in front of the dead

With all the shiny gold and silver earth can make

Oh! And a pinch too much of ropes and lead

Creates the 21st century man who gives a lot but

refuses to take

Creates the man who disguises oneself

Behind the boulder of burden’s privilege

For Merry Old Santa Klaus beats the elf

In the nearby name of life’s tutelage.

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