Empty stomach! pangs of hunger
roofless hearth, lean body sans clothes
Where muscles be
Protruding bones are dressed by skinny-bones
Where flesh be
caves have dug down to bones
Devoid of health
hearth and mind, social cripple they are
Do they need an ism, promises of heaven or a mystical God?
Cripples do not need crutches, but stretchers
not homes or store houses of grains
What they need, are mortuaries and barren lands!
to nourish them with(their) bones
to produce more for the have all
Vultures would not nibble them, hunger has done their job!
would they now need religions
to salvage their souls!
They are gone, gone with them are their miseries!
Pot bellies make merry by
wearing solemn masks
They sit in mourning, make speeches, dine, wine, sermonize!
patting the pot bellies, they leave
Religion they have preached, happily they depart.