63 years you count and cheer
pat on your own backs, a pride false
what so great to smile, to celebrate
when I stand grieving, can’t you see?!
I cry, yes I cry
For those who burn alive
Blast away as thousand charred pieces
Merrily who walked the street, unaware
Moments after are just specks numerous
Oh I cry, my heart bleeds
For those sons of my own soil
Day and night who till and toil
Burdened up they live in turmoil
And garland themselves in a rope coil
How can I not grieve? Yes I do!
Living in the valley of exotic beauty
My children think only of black soot
Hollow hearts they move about,
Dying each day; anticipating terror.
I am angry, too furious
At all your smiles of false triumph
Over blind issues: all your fights
Religion, region, mine and his
Never think of me? Am I still “MOTHER” India?!
Wake up my children, please I beg
Can’t you make me smile again
And bask in the pride of being ‘ME’
Mother to a Nation of virtues, where
Each one smiles straight from the heart.