O India, the peasants that till your fields, how I love them so,
and the Yogis by the Ganges, and the sacred pyres that burn
ever bright.
O India.....how you've suffered so, how I love you so.
O India, all the pain and misfortune, couldn't break your
soul.
O India, I could never repay you,
for all that you've given me.
Love, is the highest sphere, for Gandhi.....
showed me truth, and on his face......
was the light of God.
O India, a place....
I've never seen.
O India, you've touched my heart, for the west has caused
you pain, and still causes pain......
O India, you can never be broken....
O India, the mystical sun turns the sky red, and the Brahman
silently chants, casting ashes into the sacred river.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a nice picture of depiction...