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.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Burnt Our Soul by Kingshuk Chakraborty )
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