Akhand Singh

And then you decide to shine

To drink and rhyme

Funny world and funny people

Crazy and alone is this night

We are the fruits of hard labor

Grown to be reaped of joy

Succumb to the social cry

And then left to spread the false smile

Let the blood know it’s enough

You don’t rule the nerves in us

But then standing up is a job of another life

We were born in this century to be slaughtered and die.