The Generations Of The Stamped Fools Poem by Subrata Ray

I bear the tenor of fourteen generations' fools,
Twelve forefathers, father and my own tool,
Eccentric by principles and faith we were,
And save our humble needs, we sought never.

Hoarding food grains and money were not our case,
With day's drudgery and begging livelihood we fetched.
Succumbing to greed, lust and temptations,
Came not to visit our grass-root evolution.

The piety of the pious, and the truth of the conscience,
With complete dependence upon providence- divine,
Were the only treasures with which we were born,
Neither in poverty nor in crisis we do mourn.

The mantle of the earthly pilgrimage to us is all,
And from us the glorious glow of Divine never falls.