My land, my love,
You are still treated as Bharath Mata
Not Bharath Pita.
But, today,
You became my Miss Sorrow-bird.
Your one eye is on
The scattered feathers of equality.
The other blooming lotus like eye
On the promised-distant-dates
Of a venomous-saffron tree.
Ah! How your longings
For change and growth
Uprooted your longest wounds
And deepest sorrows?
Oh! Bigoted tomorrows,
Touch me not even in my dreams.
Because my land’s nightmares
Started dividing her within.
But ask not ever that who poured
The Kaliyuga in the eyes of my love.
For the penalty will be worse
Than crucifixion or deportation.
Yes, you will lose your faith in fraternity
Of the people,
By the people
And
For the people!
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