India!
Out of my window I gaze, at landscapes unseen,
At golden night lights, glitter and sheen,
And ask myself to find fascination in such,
And miss not my people and my past so much,
My heart replies, ‘I wish you had earlier known,
That beauty is useless when enjoyed alone!’
Oh sweet India, how I miss you so!
Where a hundred thousand mud lamps glow,
Land of hearty chaos and maddening melee,
Divine music, and enchanting philosophy,
Pray, become beautiful again, and pull me slowly,
Back to where, I know my heart will always be.
And all things unclean, stagnant and rotten,
About my homeland so easily forgotten,
Leaving behind only whiteness so pure,
Emotion tender to the touch, soft and demure,
And when of her I dream, and her love I remember,
It is as if a little child calls out, longing for its mother.
And a fluttering sanity, about itself is held,
By seams unsteady, and weakening thread.
Homesick the soul and turbulent the mind,
In morose poetry, a fraction of peace I find!
