Sunday, 26 January 2014

At the Stroke of the Midnight Hour

Though ideally this poem should have been posted on independence day but due to technical errors since I couldn't post it then, I think it's quite okay to post it today, another day of national pride. By the way, a very happy Republic Day to all my Indian friends. . . 

As the clock ticked silently
They all waited patiently
To walk, to breathe, to stand
Gracefully in a free land

A feverish excitement lingered in the air
Echoing with the silent sound of the prayers
And they all waited patiently and just
Watched as everything gathered dust

A young slave is lost in his reveries
Of where he might go when freed
A valiant soldier who has lost his hands
Pictures his child in a free land

In the corner of a dull, dark shack
Sits a widow whose sons couldn’t come back
From the place they had proudly been sent
To fight for their beloved motherland

An old Mr. Sharma is in deep thought
Thinking he could’ve died while he fought
A young khan’s wife sits waiting for her man
Who can never come back to see her again

It was at the stroke of the midnight hour
When the Tiranga fluttered proudly among the stars
Ah! Finally it was all over with a celebration
And they all woke up to the call of a free nation!




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