The society grows sick
I lend not my hand
But spend to stand.
I mind bank balance
Not wife’s mind balance.
I caress not kids
But address for their comforts.
Each one earns to be big
And ends turning a pig.
The society is in isolation
And sick without consolations.
01.08.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Added by Poetry Lover
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