Shirin Abbas

I had practically worked out
all the steps
smoothed out all the wrinkles
of our path
...

The cracked and parched earth
lapping up
each dropp of new fallen rain
dropp by drop
...

Tinged with pink come misty morns
Mustard fields that beckon dawns
A splash of green, a brush of gold
Floral wisps with hues untold
...

Millions throng...
hands folded, heads bowed
with tear-filled eyes,
hope-filled hearts
...

The architects of modern India had a vision, a dream that helped them break the shackles of foreign oppression and give posterity a free India to breathe in. Presented below are images of that dream juxtaposed with the stark and agonising reality of the present,
...

Illusions, of happiness
omnipresent yet elusive,
intangible like bubbles
I ache to reach out and touch
...

I wish I could return to safe arms
a home, a hearth a warm heart a place to call my own
childhood dreams that shattered like slivers
as the ground beneath my feet shook and trembled
...