Tags:
Journalism of Courage
From the embers of dying flames That once energised a nation free Filled it with a mace8217;s vigour Strong and mighty
With the focus of an arrow Accuracy unleashed Stood a spark 8212; the last spark Staring into the unknown
One puff away from death Seeking one breath of life Clasping the fire within That kept its glow red-white It looked for a spark in arms A blow to fuel a spark-nation Not too strong to wrench it out Not too light to ashen it
Blue, orange, yellow, white The fire had once been tall A bright, luminous tandava Burning with sound At once a rightful hammering That burnt the conquering eye And a gentle crackling That warmed the child-nation
It cried out tears of smoke As the spark reminisced What happened, it had asked We lost strength, the wise spark had said Vigour left our arms Vitality our minds We celebrated a new-found inertia The goddess of strength, Shakti, left us
We forgot the great sacrifice Thousands that offered themselves So we could live Millions that perished unknown
So we could think Billions that smoked away So God could enter our bodies And unfold in us a new freedom
But freedom chooses its heroes And we have none A nation chooses its destiny And we prefer to be led Servile and bent
We seek a master So slaves we are To do the hostile8217;s bidding
MY time is over too, it said Deliver us if you can The wise spark lost its hold Light fading, its ascent grey Into the death smog above Like others, a lifeless flake Leaving the last spark
In contemplative solitude
Strength the answer, a voice said Without it, neither arms nor mind Space nor time From the depths of its inner light To the dark crust of its dying glimmer Shakti it invoked 8212; in body, mind, soul A gentle life-giving wind And an ancient nation was reborn.
