The hunger striken faces
the torn clothes,
the dying shanties,
the dusty narrow lanes,
The identityless buds are searching the
diamonds of livelihood in dustbins.
our fashionable outfits steer clear
from those demasked flowers.
Can our concocted emotions and
glamourous sympathy hide us?
The oppressed are being made each day
just to showcase our galvanized humanity.
I can clearly hear the snicker of Devil.
Do you not?