‘Martyrs’ Day’

Thy glasses now gather dust, that once gave us clear vision,

Your woven dreams, a fashion, which then adorned the nation,

Your idol, a weapon now crazy, ideals so selfishly chosen,

Morals decorate the walls, essence conveniently forgotten.

Your words, now a caged artwork, which shook confinement mighty,

Quotes stud the chattering that once roared the skies lofty,

We lost your hard-earned sovereign, in sheer ignorance and frenzy,

We made a mere brand out of you, to quench our thirst, nasty.

You lived the sacrifice until death, we just chant definition,

Utterly ashamed we are, even to submit a confession,

Trapped we are in a quagmire, leeches sucking the nation,

Help us, O Souls Supreme, bless us with reincarnation.

■ Death Anniversary of Mahatma Gandhi

(Select lines from my English poetry book)

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