(Former prime minister late Rajiv Gandhi murdered
Poem written at the time of)
Murder is creeping on the head,
Religion is crushed under foot.
In this orphaned world,
Whose listen will be appreciated.
Some die for bread,
With some dying boards
Dreadful problem dreadful
Is about robbers
Where the blood is drawn,
That country is not of others.
We are residents of the same country,
Where Mercy Love did not win.
As soon as the tree tried to touch the sky,
He cut the root itself.
What can we do by spreading the trunk?
When death has taken place the root.
What can grow on the path of development
Whereabouts of something.
That's why i say
This country has become ill
टिप्पणियाँ
एक टिप्पणी भेजें