A Flag is not a chequered band of colors With a mosaic of celestial bodies Or a selection of nature’s or man’s designs and derivatives.
It is stream of conscience An ethos of a people It is the high tide of sacrifice That surges upto the skies to flutter.
It is the dream that filtered through long nights of bondage. In the whirr of its flutters you listen The hoarse voices of martyrs Embracing every kind of death without demur Reverberating to the limits of cosmos Making their promises to the future.
In its shade lies the strength of a nation Not a piece of land with some connotation.
