It Does Not Help Poem by Narayan Hore

I have seen most love lost chaps,
Burning smoke in midnight stalls,
Rants of adoration they do enwrap,
And extinguish when the curtain falls.

Of religion they speak, of depth refute,
When questions raised if love they thought was true,
All rebellious hairs roused deftly confute,
How all good they adorn, leaving behind a few.

Hours pass, the river swells and ebbs,
But dawn to them never knocks,
The smoke is that which chuckles and keeps,
Their company; and their folly mocks.

If love to them doesn't recur like mine,
Their fates are far from being fine.