For Our Crimes Poem by Mehta Hasmukh Amathaal

The children paid with lives
And got laid
With their blood
In our neighborhood

'Papa, come early'
'To pick me daily'
Bring few chock biscuits'
And don't be late

Sill those words ring
And beautifully sing
In ear drums
Now totally mum

Who pays for our crime?
We never thought in time
We gave shelter to criminals
Helped them with weapons

Our generation pays
With innocents lay
In pool of blood
No reason behind is understood