Into Deterioration Poem by Mehta Hasmukh Amathaal

Dear son
Wait for season
You may witness reasons
As soil may turn barren

I had plaughed for love
And simply drove
With trust
That it may be carried on till last

I have kept doors open
That leads to heaven
Make no choice for dead end
But soften the stand

Blacks have nice quality
Whites are blamed with brutality
Go after no color
They may prove real saviors

Devils are mind's product
No one can induct
It is an act of frustration
When ends love and results into deterioration