Howlers like indecent animals
Struggled to be free.
Wont to
Iron-chained leisure—
Shattered bones and legs,
Thoughtless spirits
That lacked freedom of thought.
Coal black eyes
That had never known in life
That freedom was something.
Shadowy activities were going on
Under the skin—
Fat, sleazy people
Who prayed for freedom to powerless deities—
Were bound by the shackles
Of corruption.
He asked his father if he could
Hoist the Indian flag on their terrace—
But the sky was leaden
And the vision blurry—
The books had it:
There was no pure air.
But—
The blood of our martyrs
Was pure.
It’s just another day
At the places
Where children look like famished
Goats:
Thick bellies, exposed ribs—
No limbs
To stand;
No hands
To salute the Tricolour;
Yet it’s Independence Day.
Some blind panhandlers
Were groping for a lost coin
In the mud:
A speeding car splashed mud
Into numerous eyes—
They wanted to clean it—
But sadly couldn’t.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hot blood from the bodies
Of dauntless souls
Bred this country
Of values;
Thunderous speeches of Independence
Had rattled the ground
Where Indians were born—
Our history.
There are promises of patriotism
That cry for expression:
Dumb shouts of protests
From silent households;
And loud whispers
From high offices.
They were executed;
They were mercilessly thrashed.
They just desired freedom.
We have turned our motherland into a country of shackled ‘independence’:
can we still hope?
Hope?
Sit back and smile.
