I’m a widowed land of beauty
Left with scars
Still burning in the fire of sati.
This fire is threatening
Heard of dormant volcanoes?
Flood in the city is merely a distant curse
For I melt glaciers now.
Down with black cats crossing our way
We have learnt a tiger’s leap.
You have created human industries
Of inhuman rat race.
Without caring much about plague.
The war cry of revolution may be long lost
But the piteous groans of aspirations and broken dreams
Won’t fit in your altar of orthodoxy.
Down with this liberal brigade of slaved freemen.
Before you burry me again
Remember I am a seed.
– King of Monks