My Dear Feared Nation Poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma

A spiritual but sad nation amid the sea and Himalaya,
A huge but feared mass! Over stiller places;
No singing koel ever sing her song.
The hills are barren, no saver their huge slopes,
This has an angry and dangerous rock on,
Yellow and never blooming furze,
Ready to engulf all in its burning volcano,
Dry, harsh, spiky, as dry venomous cactus;
And through misty half transparent air,
The scorching sunshine spreads the scorching heat.

Oh! ‘Tis a sad heart, boiling nook!
Which all, me think, hate; to see?
The innocent lives, in their happy years,
Knew nothing about of folly, as had made,
Their lives were less secure and unwise!
Here they lie unknown on this cruel land,
These bright souls died unknown,
And from the sun, and from the cruel nation,
No one was there to dropp tears;
And butchered, with many feelings, many thoughts.

Made me saddened to see the cold hearth,
In their dreams, they saw happy world,
And sleeping heard singing koel,
Oh God! What a sad thing?
Never loved by secular brothers,
There on the troubled hills—
Intrusion, thunder and the volley of AK-47,
And the writhing dead corpse, fear and rage,
Hatred and banishment from their native valley:
Carnage and groans, ruled by dirty Gods.

Oh departed souls! Please forgive your countrymen!
They have hurt and insulted you very grievously,
A voice of accusations pierces chilled air,
The wretched enjoy all the good of life,
Countless and heartless, the sons of cruel God,
Schools and courts, council and offices;
All secularize, bribe and bribed;
Traders and solicitors, parliamentarians and bishops;
Rich, poor, old and the young;
All are betrothed to pattern of perjury.

We are the dead to our nation and people,
Now we live, feel dawn, see sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie low,
Take up our quarrel with our friend
But love the foe with the hands chopped’
The flag; be ours but remains law;
Your break faith with those who die for us,
All sleep, though poppies grow in secular fields.
That faith does shake; the very name of God
Sounds like a juggler's charm; and, bold with joy.

Of millions and billions! Boys and girls,
And women, those would curse to see a child
Enjoy the black deed leading to pain and death,
The best amusement for their morning tea!
The poor wretch, who has learnt his only prayers;
From curses, and who knows scarcely life enough;
But ask free bites from his Heavenly Father,
Becomes an attractive life, absolute;
For power in victories and defeats,
And create perfumed terms secular and socialist for fratricide.

We have no feeling and feel no pain!
As if a patriot died without an enemy fire;
Alas! For centuries ignorant of all the pains
Her ghastlier pasts, famine, plague or slavery,
Battle, or siege, victory or defeat;
Or flight through wintry snows or burning heats,
We, this whole people, have been clamorous
For peace and non-violence; spirit sports,
To which we pay and paid dearly,
Only meek spectators and not combatants!

Immune to wrongs but unfelt,
However dim and vague, too vague and dim
Reject a justifying cause; but follow unjust:
Stuffed out with big and holy names,
And blessed by false Gods in Heaven,
We wait for the certain defeat and graceless death,
Not one or two but millions and billions! Boys and girls;
No God to judge them! Therefore, evil days;
Coming on us, like national festivals;
Wake up and see the world with eyes wide.

O my countrymen! Strong and respectful;
Should learn the meaning of the word life,
Force us to feel the ruin and the agony,
Of our past wrong doings, father and God!
O! Spare us yet awhile! Dying beneath;
The burden of their babes, sweet infants;
That but yesterday, laughed in the lap of their mothers;
Sons, brothers, sisters, husbands, fathers all;
Beware of the infidel's hatred, make yourselves pure!
Stand up! Be men! Repulse the ugly foe.