Our Progress Is Progressing Poem by HARVENDRA SINGH

Our progress is progressing.

Only in shabby shanties
you may find
a few faces—
flawless, full of form.

They half‑fill
the hungry bellies
of their fondlings,
and serve their old ones
in silence.

But along the dry streets
of prosperity
walk mostly the dead shadows.

If some still breathe,
they breathe
in half‑measure;
and in the streets of scarcity
dwell the last relics
of humanity.

The young lasses
are profaned,
their souls defiled—
we keep our mouths shut
and name it
progress.

Asylums are full,
crèches are full.
Old age is moaning,
Infancy is sobbing.

Some modern couples
go on pilgrimages,
and some
to their honeymoons.

Some are lost
in social media screens,
and some
in their endless moneymoons.

Anyway, we must say—
our progress
is progressing.

— Harvendra
02/08/2025