A poem on Independence

My nation sings a mellifluous song
reminiscing the years bygone
she unties her locks and swivels around
brimming with ecstasy and joy.
She bathes herself
in the heat of the South,
the sun bounteous on her tawny skin.
She treads the woods,the Sunderbans
her garrulous childlike laughs
echoing the serenity.
She sits by the Ganges
hands crossed into a knot
melancholia seeps in
bringing with it
a wave of ‘inqulabs’
unwavering and assertive
as the Himalayas standing tall.
The sky weeps tears of joy and grief
the undaunted souls who gave up their breath,
embracing the soil
painting it red.
She hums in reverie
a note of thanks,
the widow’s, the old and the dead.
She casts aside,the robe she wore
the tricolour cloth she drapes.
The saffron of valour
the chaste white
and the lushness of green she wears.
With head held high
an air of prowess
I am an Indian
Say I .

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