Lalit Kishore
Mar 31 min read
WORST TIMES HAVE ARRIVED: A POEM
WORST TIMES HAVE ARRIVED: A POEM The scales of justice, rusted, swing no more, But weigh the cost of souls against the gain. The battlefield, a market, drenched in gore, Where profit blooms in fields of human pain. Religion, once a comfort, balm, and guide, Is hawked 'n packaged, twisted, bought, 'n sold. Even the spirit, seeking peace inside, Finds commerce there, its story to be told. The yogi’s breath, the whispered sacred name, Each priced and plated, served for empty sho










