God!

He sat on his throne wrapped in gold, crowned, revered…remote,
And watched people chant his name,
Oh! So often in vain,
Then came the burning camphor, dead flowers & selfish prayers,
All this while a poor man starved,
Desperate, desolate, he lay on the marble steps,
Often pitied and kicked aside, numerous hands rung the temple bell,
But none bothered to hear his plight,
Dead on a cold December night,
Not man, not God shed a tear...at such an abysmal end!