What is wrong with today's lass and lad?
Should they adapt to all the society's fad?
Should they talk with nothing but contempt,
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When words fail to explain
And eyes are tear drained
Get up and rise
Don't welcome the loser sighs
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From the beautiful mythology,
to the Indian ideology,
This is my India and I am proud of her.
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I held thy hand
And far I wanted to go
How sweet is young love
I very well know
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A mother, She is hard to describe,
Cause whatever she does is not bribed.
You can observe her care,
When she cooks your food with her hands bare.
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The strong beam of light,
Making my crust bright,
My beautiful tides,
Giving the surfers sea rides,
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Prison-ed in the four walls of this room,
Waiting for a magical broom.
So that I need not weep,
Or go on sweep.
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I remember the day,
while I was sitting by the bay.
There arrived a van,
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Let me tell you a story,
Well, neither does it describe a hero's glory,
Nor does it exemplify how the lions roared,
As to new heights the hero soared.
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I remember when our class was changed,
How we all raged!
The teacher said,
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