Bleeding Nation And The Yogi Poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma

Leaders lie, the nation who boost us in a loud coarse beat,
But hunger is here a permanent guest, and all miseries greet;
Sighing and crying seeing the weary faces in the street -
Only express sorrow for the owners of those faces in the fleet.

And cause of sorrow, in a land so holy and fair feet,
Shocked to see the dying farmers, cursed by hunger and eat;
I look in vain for traces of the fresh and sweet
Every where sallow, sunken faces that are there to greet-

In hours before the dawn dim, the starlight in the sky lit,
The tired and weary unemployed youth begin to trickle but unfit,
Like pale Jamuna flow the faces in the street –
To the beat of work less and sick youth’s heavy feet -

But gangsters rule the moments, masses beneath the dust and heat
The nation is full of hatred and greedy faces in the street -
Grinding body, grinding soul, earning nothing to eat -
Tells of the city's unemployed upon his weary beat -

And after the hours in the factory, feet have slowly dragged in corner pit,
And sickly black chimneys rise to mock the hungry day’s heat,
Ah! My heart aches for the owner of fear and weeded in the street
Sad smile that mock the owner, and with words; half entreat.

For in its heart are growing thick the crime dens and pit,
Hungry pleads for mercy in the corner of the street -
Sinking down, sinking down, battered, wrecked by don’s beat -
A dreadful, thankless trade is hers, that mother of the street.

Human forms shall rot away in cities like pig meet,
And butchers faces roam freely, but unfit for any street -
Even holy cows are not loved, served as dish as secular meat -
In dens of vice and horror that rule all cities and the street.

Ah! Sonia Man Mohan's slaves, your knees thrill, your hearts in joyous beat,
When God demands a reason for the sorrows of the street,
The wrong things, the bad things, and the sad things that we meet
In the filthy lane, the cruel, heartless nation’s street.

I left the dreadful corner where the steps are never meet,
But when the night came dreary with the driving rain and sleet,
They haunted me - the shadows of those faces in the street,
Flitting by, flitting by, Flitting by with noiseless feet.

Once I cried: `Oh, God Almighty! If Thy might doth still conduit,
Now show me in a vision for the wrongs of Earth a cure in sight,
And in the warning distance heard the tramp of many feet,
And soon I saw the army that was marching down the street.

Then, like a swollen river that has broken bank, wall and no halt,
The human flood came pouring with the saffron flags smart,
And kindled eyes all blazing bright with revolution's heat,
And flashing yogis replacing rigid faces in the street.

Nation swings to the rhythm of Yogi Ramdev’s feet,
Danced to the yogic art, saved by the blessings of God greet -
The dreadful ill breed leaders replaced by yogis without heat,
In that pent track of living death - the nation’s brute street.