The Motherland

The peacock sings for the rainless shower
of heat upon the parched land
of living gods and dying men.
Under the saffron skies the blue
water disappears into white
and green- salt and miles of
useless weeds. 

Stuck on the soil they suck
like patriotic parasites
covered in muck
and grime. Safe from the
Blaze of the ruthless sun.

Let the animals out of the cage
and let them be exemplars of civility: 

Mera mulk, mera desh,
Har jagah, Desh-Videsh,
Har Kahani, Har Vesh,
Me aati hain yeh Sarnata,
Jo bhula deti hain mujhe woh Vaada -
Jo main pura na kar saka,
pura na kar saka. 

Yet the men of gods, and
gods of men are
baffling,
truth to be told.
Toh muh khol 
aur zor se bol -
Let the truth unfold!
Let the truth unfold?