The Beckoning Poem by Pragya Deb Burman

I'm walking down
The land of the deep blue-green hills,
With winding ribbon roads, that never end;
Mighty rivers and gentle streams,
Flowing forever, with so much zeal;

Whistling birds on flowering bowers,
Happy people toiling for hours,
Chirpy children on rocky paths,
Little huts with warm hearths;

Azure skies and moonlit nights,
Blushing sunsets, painting my world bright!
Roaring waterfalls in quiet dells,
This land is my mother, I'll never sell.

But hark! The shattering sound of the gun,
Echoes in my vale now-
And blood eclipses each setting sun;
All for peace?
Oh why to the insane do we bow?
Creator, this plight only You can ease-
For tonight, I'm coming home to my earthy paradise,
And here will I close my weary eyes.