The mobile was silent, and the mails never came
The blogger mates were glum, nothing from them
I wondered for a while, am I missing it.
From friends and strangers -
Wishes for the beauty of the Republic.
Thank gracious mercifully though,
Nothing this time around.
Perhaps they see the aura of the state
ebbing slow but sure.
Perhaps they see the futility.
Of feigning blind when it is glaring and vivid
The poor country is plunging down, down and down hill
Thanks to us, one and all
For whom ‘the self’ matter more.
And the tricolour – a fragment of cloth, colourful though!
To be unfurled at the Lal Chowk, and paint the mother red.