from a wonderful night
she came alive
oh my country
obscured in her gloomy might
her love seemed so right

the feign of her tattered story
she bears the burden of Africa
the reign of her battered glory
her body abut and juxtaposed Madagascar

I wish that I fly away
from my path
I might not stray
from the start
I was taught to pray

my dreams to soar in beautiful array
as the nation saddles in its own barrage
lamentations of 56 years' blink
I see on eagle's wings what victory brings
the joy of 36 shining gold rings
too bright to look at
naming and counting one for each

and when twilight was reach
in plenteous joy and happiness
to the people my heart outreach
compensation for years lived
in wood and ash

I gave too much, for all too little
dinlemek
in the end, it was okay.
استمع
Nothing lost, nothing gained,
ακούω
and nothing left to say.
बात सुनो

But
Почуй мене

If I speak, will you listen?

Light the torches.
Burn it to the ground.
Let the flames dance until the ashes flee this plot of land upon the back of the wind.
This patriarchal house that father built has been stained with the blood of past victims.
The blood of enemies dots the floor while whats left of friends streaks the walls, marking the spot where they leaned for one last moment of respite prior to life escaping them.
We stand here with the warm blood dripping from our hanging fingertips.
Clothing streaked red.
Clearly we all had a part to play.
Whether part of the execution or part of the clean up, we all took part in the slaughter.
Fathers swung blades.
Mothers bandaged the wounded so they may **** again.
Children carried the buckets of blood to be disposed of.
Yet no one wept.
Not a tear was shed in the name of this great nation.
No one wailed during the systematic destruction of our resources.

Roads are crumbling.
Water is poisoned.
Politics are a circus.
The police have become a military force.
And lives have been destroyed.
Fathers are still wielding the blade
While mothers take up the blood buckets of their children who have been slain.
When does it end?
Does it end when we run out of weapons?
When we run out of people?
When we run out of love?
Weapons are only an extention of the wielder.
The bomb unbuilt cannot explode.
Our mother's words should be ringing in all of our ears.
Be good.
Treat people right.
Love.
Instead we jam fingers in ears, scream and stamp feet until even our thoughts are nothing but static.
The hiss and squeal of gunshots and speeding tires continually drown out the sounds of children's laughter and those Marvin Gaye records that Mrs. Jenkins plays on Sunday nights.
This isn't just a story of the inner city blues.
The suburban warriors are also witness to the carnage.
It's time to stay the blade.
Allow mothers to mourn.
And children to play.
Peace is a choice.
Choose wisely.

green
the colour of freedom
a whispered memory
a mother's touch

red
the colour of blood
needlessly spilled
a river in the streets

grey
the colour of despair
but a remnant
of the candle's flame

death
a colour of...
it must be a colour
the pallor painting the father's-

green
it seems lost
among heartache, loss
will the memory ever fade?

blue
the sky under which children play
will they again?
for the sky is grey

green*
the mother's nation
birthed of strife, breach
shining through

The hues that we respire
the chants of myth
heavenly birds in the ghats
India brims with the untouched
borders of mortality

It's the division
That causes diversion
From the real reason
Why there's a nation.

From the classic white and black
To the queer and straight
Take it a step further
And we'll reach heaven and hell.

Ever wonder why there's a lease
Beyond the acts and protocols
That only binds and blinds
Slowly dimming our wits and our eyes.

Blunt barricade, sharpened doors
Batons as heavy as our souls
Houdini cannot unloose
Seamed and woven by our ironic prose.

The blood sheds
Are no more smelling
The surrounding is well sprayed
A fragrance of Night queen
Awkward seems to be with the
Shining day-light.
But yes,
We all are happy!
The constitution is successfully implemented
The roads are no more dumping ground
That place,
Now-a-days
Replaced by our heart.
I'm writing an open letter to you
Sir Ambedkar
Please guide us
We need you
Like never before.-26.01.2016

India is my
Motherland
Only democracy on the earth.
United we're
We're one.
We want
Peace.
We don't
War.
Where diversity meets
Unity.
Where abundance meets
Opportunity.
The land of dreams
The land of fairies.
My Motherland
My Pride
I Love my India.-17.01.2016

(Backdrop:-In general,Manager places order but yesterday its was a request(humble).Reason being is;its required for her Sweetheart(Daughter)of 4.6 years for the recitation competition most probably on the Republic Day.So,here we go...)

I feel the loneliest at an airport
because my soulmate could be walking around
searching for me
and light up at the glimpse of my face,
stammering to find a conversation point;

or they are getting on a flight
after hearing my laugh
remembering the sound across the nation.