The water laps without memory
upon sand that once bled
He feel to his knees once there in prayer
and now again to recall what God said
Even the breeze fell silent to the witness
of the bells, echoing what we once read

A reluctant hero, the same as a tourist
this land was not his land,
But the hearts that once beat in sorrow
recognize his outstretched hand
The moon spoke without being asked
“Their grieving washed away with the sand”

When dreams become nightmares
and glory ages into regret
we watch as he stretches his uniform
over a heavy heart covered in sweat
He knew the tears of a soldier fall hard
upon folded flags unable to forget

Condition me
And tell me the songs,
The rhymes,
The fables
Of display
To show me your greatness
In every single way.

Make me stand up
And salute you
Every single day,
Pin me up
And make me your brand
To brag about your arsenal
And send your bombs away.

Paint me your image,
A one I was never sure
If I wanted,
And blind me in flashes
Of gaudy light.

When the display is gone,
Do I agree with what you done,
And is it all right?

My heart
Is the colour of vermillion
It pumps blood
Red as the dead you have had
Butchered. Life
Is a big red
Puddle you happily jump in
To paint your soul whole
Free from the flag that drapes it.

Perhaps,
You could paint over your hatred
Sell it for parts for tin men hearts
Let it sink in the gutter
Of your imagination.

Yet the morals you have had emblazoned
Singe the lines of demarcation
Of your mind, of this nation
You have joyfully
Settled in.

And until birds, broken
Sing of freedom
And begin to heal
Your mind's abrasion
No peace or calm can live
Inside your soul's pavilion
When the flag of your heart
Burns vermillion.

I've pledged allegiance to a flag
that pledges none to me,
that would sooner see her stars go dim
than allow freedom to be free.

Where is the patriotism?
Nowadays everyone is diving in the ocean of imagination
Regardless of what is happening to the nation
The majority of educated people who never stood in poll lines to give votes
Can now be seen in Bank and ATM lines collecting pink notes
Everyone tries to show patriotism in their famous poem and notations
But when it comes to reality everyone they are pretending that they had just went into depression
On the night of 8 November the poor felt that they had become wealthier than the rich
But now the politicians have started commenting that their situation is not less than the homeless *****
On the same night all the corrupt started rifling their old currency notes
Few were found in the pillow covers and few in the Tommy's dusty coats
The next morning the scrap of old notes were found some in the dustbin, some on the river Ganges and even on the boats...
Now I have just a simple question, is this the patriotism they had all the time showed?