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Mera Bharat Mahan, a poem in prose
Can we describe India in a poem that is written in prose? Here is one attempt in which I have tried to highlight all the 'greatness' of 'Mera Bharat Mahan'.

DEFINES INDEFINABLE, upholds honour, old practices of barbaric death. But has no mercy. A country deprived, depraved. Where poverty has become the fashion. Mobile phones loot markets. Not books. Televised serials, where children ogle and imitate. Murder. Child beats another to death. Student murders teacher. No reprieve. Except that the hungry can sleep. Not sure, whether on beds or pavements.

Little children play in puddles. Their elders with moodles... the computer is omniscient, everything from knowledge to dirt is discovered, re-discovered.

Mesmeric dreams are unravelled in glass houses. In apartments, which have a hundred bedrooms. Luxury is sated. But a few go hungry. Only a few, because they do not matter. Cricket is auctioned. Tears are spasmodic. What happens if a few reach Heaven because of a blast.

Blast them! Blast Me! Blast the Devil. Only peace; preaches someone, is the way out (of this oblivion). Peace be to all, also those who in huts watch the froth of rice for a meal. Then a train is blown up. Pieces remain scattered. When will the ex- gratia take place? I mean the payment. Don't display wad of notes. We have enough, because elections are round (the corner). Someone is fighting corruption. CNN-IBN says so, interview him and have a biggish fight.

Meanwhile some terrorists are on the prowl. Mediate with peace. The government interlocutor is not good enough. Then, who is the Indian Idol, the bread winner, or the food show biz? Eat, but give some alms.

Then cricket makes me a little mad. Restore sanity, because you are selling them. How bizarre! Auctioning human beings? Come on, football will pay more plus you a have a jersey. Call the Corporates, towards a socially responsible - INDIA.

My love, what do we bequeath? Love? The hills where we live and their ancient rocks? But they are blood spattered. Even the sky is red. Doesn't matter North East or Jammu & Kashmir. Why do you call it North East? Why? Why do you call them backward? My love spill your dreams into mine, then only.

Mera Bharat Mahan Hai... why did you hurt that lady who picked you up from gutters? Why did you bash, smash people who went to another temple, not yours? Why? Why? You burnt them, like Joan of Arc on the stake. O God, my God. Faustus. You are not the Devil. Only God incarnate.

Let us go into deep sleep. Somnambulism will not pay. Only credit cards.

With much love...


When you die- Rest In Peace. But, I am praying for your recovery.

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