Pure Home Grown Native Poem by Dharma Gill

I am a native from a farmer’s tribe.
I use the Dhol for communication,
talk to my ancestors and discover my roots.

I read from the Bhagavad Gita,
reiterate praise to sun-gods,
hoard live material so study my history -
proud of my Indian heritage.

I am not the last civilised Indus valley Herculean.
I'm an ancient language deciphered
from the Harappan culture.
As a Nordic Dravidian,
I pay my daily respects at the altar
of Shiva’s Temple.
Blessed by the supreme being.

I drink soma, a sanctified potion -
intoxicant - during a Vedic ritual
of games, dancing and chariot races.
I relax with a body-massage
in homemade mustard lotion.
I hear the flute play its mystical sounds,
entrances me to a higher state of being.
Ancient literature conveys its message
through oral traditions, traversing ages.
Religious text inspires the next generation.

I'm the one they want to westernise,
Neolithic orthodox in my views -
I make Vedic sacrifices
and pronounce my warrior caste heroism.
I fight and win every battle against invaders,
maintain my tribal loyalty.
On a meditative level of occult powers
and folk magic, my theological polytheism
at work connects me to astral planes.
I operate upon successive incarnations,
illuminates our practices
with cultural leisure pursuits
reflects opulent and enriched way of life
of an Indian native who demonstrates his freedom.