The filth around seems disgusting no more,
for the stain on my soul, I know,
is even filthier. As I walked along
the road, filthy too, I can see
thousands of faces moving to and fro,
laden with a stained soul like me.
The fog of winter seems hazy no more
for the veil on my soul, I know,
is even darker. As I gazed upon
their eyes, murky too, I can tell
everywhere darkness is roaming free
all around those veiled souls like me.
I have often wondered why, is it blood
or time or the land that has made us so.
This land is strange and unique too
like any homogenous one
but her strangeness is most pathetic
for her sons and daughters are all opportunists
with a blind past, deformed and a narrow foresight
with a rotten smell from their conscience, dead inside.