The flame of the immortal Indian warrior
I hear, we have crossed the sixtieth year,
Standing guard without any fear,
Another day in the desert sun,
Or a night at height, with a freezing gun,
Tell me my India “What I am worth.”
For the Battles and Wars that I fight,
Never asking which one is right,
From Dawn to Dusk and then to Dawn,
Your Bishop, Your Knight Your Eternal Pawn,
Tell me my India “What I am worth.”
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Those tired feet have seen better days,
They work from before the morning rays,
Never staggering or tripping on some stone,
In parts almost eaten to the bone.
The stomach growls with such an ache,
What he would do for the piece of her cake,
He hasn’t got past dried canned food,
At these heights even you would.
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This unit is like any other
he thought,
same flaps __________
same chaos __________
like in any other;
It was so
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Naval bugles and designer tigers
beckon and boys
from slumber;
from Boribunder
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Vigyan Bhavan
now, probably still asmoulder even,
after the fire,
saw many speakers
from the four corners of the planet seminaring
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