There always lies a desire
to pen something fair but what to ink,
I always think.
Having seen the birds that fly
without any fear in the serene sky
the beauty of the flower in the morning shower
The dawn that possess the darkness of night
and the shining of the day
the dusk that brushes the blue-white clouds
with a palette of colours
the waves that rouses as if they kiss
the sky the dancing waters from the hills
the melodious tunes of the nightingale
the lull of a mother telling her child a fairy tale
the calf drinking the love of cow as milk
the lad sleeping in peace in mother's lap
the blood of men in uniform the bindi of women in many a form
the dressing of tongue in red by supari
the beauty of hands decorated by mehandi
the poems full of lyrical values
the music filled with melodious tunes
the beauty of girl that dances so smart
the history of India that is rich in all kinds of art
rouses in me a desire, to pen something fair
but what to ink? I always think.
