Part II
Came near at the end
The bird of freedom.
When all had left;
Leaving the Tiranga
Furling alone
And introspecting.
The souls that had
Laid their lives
For holding Her up
Spiraling round the Tiranga
In the sky, they
Shredded a million of
Drops, from their eyes
On the Tiranga
To drench altogether
And to stop Her furling
For she also was crying.
Wetting Her people.
But
Waiting for the dawn
The dawn of freedom
Since years and years.
And in the evening
When approached the cops,
To mark the end of the day, and
The festival of democracy.
Then to rebar the
Furling sovereign of
Democracy.
From their shoulders
Raised Her brow
The insignia of the
Nation state.
Indicating to the
Drifting sovereign and
Its disappearing hues
Of freedom and rights
In the backyard of
Power and money.
And hence to be caged in
Its compartmented inn,
Inside the huge buildings
Called as
The pillars of democracy.
But in the suffocating hands
Of corruption
Waiting since long,
Longing for months;
A day - once more
To be the onlooker of
The masses -
Deprived and deceived
Since years.
In the name of independence
To remain for ever,
In dependence, in dependence.
This poem is my voice again pseudo democracy.
Hope it can touch your heart.
©gbdash
G