Betrayed Self of the Indian Soul

 

Runs today this country, but how?

Gazing up to its stars, who

sowed the potential seeds of mass destiny,

Oof, defeated now by its masses own!

 

Their self vouched for a nation great,

But now self-betrayed most,

Self-defeating today’s youth

listen not the soulful cries of those martyred.

 

Ripe fruits they were,

Thrust themselves in freedom’s crusher,

Blood came pure, while the fleshy mass

and powdered bones smiled in the dust.

 

Those dying heaps of flesh dreamt

a rainbow-hued nation,

Alas, we stomped over their blood’s carpet,

With monstrous hoofs of every sort.

 

Torn out dream it’s now, smiling in some old eye,

While we run hoarsely, sometimes just to

pick up certain dusted piece

on some anniversary or the other.

 

Nehru’s ‘productive hands’ throttle others;

Non-violence simply an impractical antonym,

This nation will wither; its rulers show

moral corruptibility extreme; subjects do the same.

 

Gasps this nation for life, its body

sixty years old, clad in wornouts,

Holding its staggering and crawling billion souls,

But for how long, I am afraid to guess!