No Money Poem by Mehta Hasmukh Amathaal

River Ganges need not be cleaned
As it is already made dirty and remains unclean
Its holy nature has never been diluted
Even though it is dangerously polluted

Poets have no means to become rich
As money has remained beyond their reach
If holy river can be made unholy
Poets are certainly made poorer wholly

In ancient India Brahmins* were custodian of literature
They were rewarded with kind on auspicious occasions for their future
Virtual status of their remaining in semi starved condition
Where in return they got nothing but in part with as rich tradition

They have disintegrated very fast and can be counted now on fingers
So is the case with modern poets known as poor managers?
Livelihood can not be made out of this true passion
Only one will have to remain contended with compassion

One may earn fame and big name with all laurels
Person may be called on stage and asked to reveal
The secret about reaching at peak or top level
At heart he may be feeling bad about condition to tell

I can not make living out of writing
It is as if with empty stomach fighting
With all high values in each and every poems
The minimum earning is not worth even purchasing food articles

"I am fakir*" I told many of my well wishers
They may come at home and ask as if I am good earners
Royalty may fetch you in millions when it clicks
"I suffer a pinch of salt" and makes me for wounds to lick

Thank god I am not dependent on this profession
Let me make and declare it as honest confession
Many may be struggling for the want of survival
Some good amount may certainly be bringing happiness on arrival

*Fakir… poor, *Brahmin..upper cast hindu