Sunday, November 13, 2011


- Gurpreet Singh Rana

Whose country is this, such greenery, such abundance such bounty
Flowers so beautiful, how diligently the waters perform their duty
The mountains, the wilderness beckons, the sunshine increases beauty
A sage comes forth, speaks, “This is my country which I adore and cherish
This is the country which my ancestors and my peers have longed to flourish
The worst fears of my heart have come true; I don’t want my country to perish”
Frowning and murmuring, distressed and bending on his stick he went
Gave me a sad feeling, spoilt my excursion, an unnecessary fear he lent
Madman is he, thought I, why should I spoil my holiday, which is all I meant.
But hark, what sounds do I hear, of bombs, guns, bullets and explosions
People roam the streets with daggers, are these real men with no emotions
A group went by shouting, carrying black flags and creating commotion.
Eye for an eye, bloodshed, revenge, where are our rights they mouthed
Hijack planes, burn buildings, kill detractors was what everybody touted
Weapons we have, not to worry, we will snatch the governance they shouted.
A loud explosion sounded along the end of the street, colour of it became red
A suicide squad struck someone shouted, run for your lives for more we dread
People ran frantically, uniformed men shouted looking for injured and dead
I looked along with horror; a mound of bodies lay with their limbs seared
Something familiar I saw, a stick on the street and a bent back smeared
Lay there the sage I had encountered, taking his last breath he appeared.
Thus he spoke his dying words, “Where is the peace, the brotherhood, the sunshine
From where came these separatists and the militants, these people are not mine
Clouds of fear have shrouded my country and long gone is the much adored sunshine.”

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