It started with a group of crazy sycophants
Probably not hand-in-glove, but able to stand
This close-eyed, wrathy sample of a man
Who wove lies to be told to usurp the land,
This land from where once we arose
This land that's ours which we composed
This fresh, now concrete, smelling soil
That we, we, we sunk into and toiled;
This story lest we forget
Of how the stars showed us
Two of a mind, but separate,
Brought down together as two crumbling vacant towers;
Now, somehow I believe in this alignment of the stars.
So I appeal to this glittering sand of god
That to see this we witnessed again jalianwallah bagh;
Never again may honest, earning men
Have to exchange their blood to later repent;
Today, even though a brainwashed mass
Says this is wrong, as citizens protesting is not our task!
I pray that as my land again awakes
Tomorrow it's children will never ask
If we played a hand, and all wore a mask?
In this land which they say is built on prejudices
May we never again, forget our right to rule
As the cultivators of this soil, not silent mules.
-- clearly inspired by Rabindranath Tagore (Amra Shobai Raja)