Ganga, Yamuna, Saraswati
Raging rivers wanton and free.
From the snows of Kashmir,
Rises the base of our nations Keel.
It makes it stand, and that's why we don't kneel.
Just as my rivers are free, and my sons,
So are my daughters,
Whether they call me abba or Pappa is not what matters,
How dare you silence my nightingales?
What gives you the right to gag my only heritage?
How can you think you will get away with this?
The snows of Kashmir will smother you in a stitch.
Let their be light, let their be only pure light
Let their be Praagaash.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem