Burnt Our Soul
The black behind the white clothes
Are suddenly out.
Coal-gate and Rail-gate
Are just a few to name them.
Gentle men……not they are,
The nation shouts.
With honey trap and money trap,
They have shamed the game.
Modesty was put at stake even then;
Being in its clout,
With trading and betting in the past
Panchali was even thrown before lust.
Cupidity runs through our blood,
Chasing them often we
Burnt our soul.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Burnt Our Soul by Kingshuk Chakraborty )
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