I know the clappings you give

are none but a trick

A trick to stick to the hard and fast system

You are afraid to vomit or swallow properly

Yet you like suffering from irreparable digestion.

You adore to be remain a hungry mendicant

Your hands are itching

Your each and every vein carries

the blood of moral sycophant.

Your nerves parrot after the crazy milieu

You have sacrified your identity

You can no more feel your own hue.

We are behind the same long procession

Holding the placards of sweet poisonus words

Lurking lizards often frown at us

we are at the behest of blessded cowards.

for aeon we are busy shaking the pagoda tree

The intoxicated hands are on hungry wait

freedom has been a salable comodity

to that fact we pose to disagree.