Sigris were cold in pundit hamlets, <br />People here were fuels to jihadi guns, <br />Wailing widows crying for slaughtered kins. <br />Terrified returning homeward their tired way, <br />As world a towering inferno to them. <br />The air was carrying a sad silent tone, <br />Weeping birds complain to moon and stars <br />Crying about the lost ones, <br />Who will never be seen again, <br />No memorials erected for those slaughtered, <br />As they were not mad vote machines. <br />In that method less madness, <br />Some might have slaughtered with a fire within, <br />Or arms that might have raised an empire, <br />Or hands that might have rocked the oceans, <br />Some great Vivekanand might be there, <br />Or some cherished Tendulkar, <br />Might have lost his blood. <br />All merit they had but sad fate, <br />Slaughtered for a status and crown <br />And their shivering bones remained, <br />Unprotected from insult and bloodbath. <br />Let not power mock their toll, <br />Sad destiny and remorseful smile, <br />And rude kotwals of secular trade dancing, <br />Multicultural dons will remain their, <br />To curse names and race for their trade <br /> Bestowed with a treasure hidden. <br />On unclaimed pyre lie their corpses, <br />Unfortunate, cursed and unattended, <br />Nation mocking their poor faith, <br />Alas! Poor pundits of Death Valley. <br />, <br /> <br />By, <br />DR. YOGESH SHARMA<br /><br />Dr. Yogesh Sharma<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/genocide-of-pundits/
