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6th June, 1996

The road is silent,
While behest with the milling crowd.
Its heart crushed by tires rough,
And ears deafened by horns loud.

People walking on the road are many,
With attires laughable, and looks zany,
Still, for everyone, it’s the same,
Power or fame – whatever be their aim.

It supports hearts
That hold dreams of a brighter ‘morrow,
And walks with some,
Whose hearts are full of sorrow.

Such a saint is the road,
That holds not a grudge,
So evil is a man,
Whose wickedness does not budge.