India Poem by Praveen Kumar In Shobha Priya

India



The proud land of valiant warrior kings
Who fought to death to vanquish arrogance,
The rich lush field of thinkers and artists
Where thoughts and beauty blend to new heights,
The subtle vast space of spiritual lights
That spread to the world like benign wisdom,
The sprite that never quailed inside are India
That weathered all shocks and time's fury
In stoic still and quiet confidence
That instilled in soul, guides her long course.


India, l the seat of right life and sacred rites,
The womb of all pursuits to unknown goal
In evolution's wild painful spurts
That jolt humanity to shocks of celestial rhythms;
India, the throne of truth, beauty, moral orders,
The hive of yogis in spiritual pursuits
Whose insights guard this land from time's onslaughts
That built and ruined countless nations;
Though fell in time's celestial cycle, algate rose
With new strengths to culture's richer heights.

An island of kind hearts and rectitude
With the nature's barriers in guard on all sides,
India is distinct like the polaris in night sky,
A still beacon of the world for inward sojourn,
A constant little glow of hopes and resilience
While the world crumbles to the gulf of savage sin
Of wars, violence and lusty heinous crimes;
A live granary of the world's choice cultures
Where the bests of the East and west meet to melt
To a rich blend of this and outside worlds.

India, the holy temple of the world,
India, the spiritual heart of the world,
Where the steady silent lamp of love, faith and wisdom
Spreads dim light in ceaseless splendours
To quell glooms of greed and ignorance,
Stills storms and holds floods those raven the world
In benign grace distinct to her charm,
Like great souls of laserlike psychic force
Who cool fires and still earth-quakes
And tame man-eaters by gentle flash of eyes.
The great Buddha and Gandhi drank her charms,
The great Geetha and Vedas caught her warmth;
Ashoka and Akbar lived true to her spirits,
Like pretty little sparkles of her celestial glow;
India may go torn and balked a day
And knit again as a vast united land;
But, her soul speaks and blood streams
All over her land at all the time,
Like earthworms those live distinct in bits;
For India is not a land, but a sacred spirit.

No doubt, India is a shameful huge minion today,
A coward Soviet's protectorate in disquise
While crawls on the feet of the State's distant might
And wails at doors of the tiny japan and france
For day's bread with long begging bowls:
With her crippled limbs and parched straw tongue,
India no more stands firm nor speaks aloud,
While Japan, Korea, Iraq and Israel rose from dusts
To face world-mights eye to eye;
No more is she a spiritual guide, but a stupid confounded noise.

No truth, beauty or rectitude; no final goals,
But to stand up to little Pakistan's mischiefs,
All her goals, all her spirits and hopes;
The giant China overawes her,
The little Pakistan disheartens her;
She starves hard labour, feeds thieves and cheats;
She ravages innocence, breeds rats and bed-bugs
Who suck the blood of her rectitude and beauty;
No souls rise to stir her bleak, shattered spirit,
For, her poisoned womb can hold no clean soul now.

Dark age, like dark tunnels in a hilly tract
Along the path to a distant unknown goal,
Do dout all lights and blind inner sights
In the circuitous course of a nation's life;
The fall is a phase for a steep rise,
The gloom is a game to call-in the past splendours;
Her sacred lamp should soon light the world,
Her quiet strengths should soon charm athe world;
India, the world's holy spiritual guide should rise soon
To her old Self like a war-worn king returns to his throne.

Black clouds cannot hide infinite sky,
The bleak times cannot dim India's spiritual glow;
Destined is she to guide and mother the world
Along the right path of truth and beauty
Thro' spine-chilling gulfs and horrendous hells
Those dug deep on the way in hide to attack;
The war is long and the leader on the saddle
Holds her reigns and guides her troops;
Some battles are lost and troops step back
To win war and vanquish final goals.

The sacred land, awash with holy hymns,
The divine hearth ablaze with meditations,
The quiet battleground, littered with contemplations,
Rises to Himalayan heights and delves to ocean depths
To uncover fragrance of the subtle human life
And sweeten the world with its quiet spread;
All Indian strains bear the rare stamp-
In arts and crafts, in science and culture
Or wars, morals, commerce or literature,
In pride and valour, in skill and sports.

India, the great, the crown of moral world,
India, the playground of truth and nonviolence,
Of valiant warriors who shed blood for the land;
India, the home of sacred religious thoughts,
Of countless riches, of noble scholarships;
India, the land of nature's fulsome beauty
That soothes soul by rhythmic musical heaves
Of all still and quiet peace "Om", one with infinite sky,
And brings grace and rectitude, unseen any where
To her proud sons who love her more than themselves.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Soumita Sarkar 05 November 2013

Can we say and feel proud for the same land after reading a daily...? ? Yes a tribute to the Motherland......I hope that more people start thinking like this to return the past glory.....BACK with a bang.I invite you to read my pen.Thanks.

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