The order was passed and promulgated,
Who thinks it is professional?
To earn money in a startlingly introverted way,
To corrupt life just to grasp the truth.
Yet politics remains untouched
Within a social crisis and crime,
To keep life still from any tune-up—
Rendered by those who are the seekers?
An omen to sway life in the struggle
For the undying growth of the human race.
In politics, people think and dedicate themselves
For the sake of divinity and real justice,
To set the framework of human morality.
The dedicated soul remains rare and out of bounds,
Quick to show off its deadly aspects
In the glittering waves beneath the ocean,
And hills like the plunge of Victoria.
As if unbounded, the vast water of the sea,
Or canals confined in a small pool,
Like the sweet message in the dreams of ageing,
Those who have only hope to survive on earth,
Like a lacklustre stock still allied in dearth.
Forgiveness and freedom from evil deeds—
Society has never grown as civilised as the person
Who accepts virtue only as a profession to earn a living.
