She groans her self to be awake Every morning from sleepless nights, She moans and hisses so desperate No sound can create such fright, She dresses herself so immaculate No bride in the world ever might, She smiles and tries for others' sake, And is the most friendly and most polite.
Behold! The bells of the temples now ring. Listen! This is the sound of India awakening.
She has a lot of issues to break With neighbors who don't see her plight, She weeps so hard her grief sounds fake But no one to share her time of delight, She sends her proud children away, To lands only known as those of white, She is a quick achiever, who is always late Trying too hard to be in a global sight. Behold the echoes of the valleys above. Capture the splendor of Kashmir's love.
She has a lot of care and an equal ache, Watching her offspring live to fight, She watches the results of a big mistake, Unfold on her like a string less kite, She strives to move on from Heaven Lake, Only to return again to a darker night, She is a friend to all and yet opaque, To everyone who love her with spite.
Explore the Khajuraho's ages of galore. Implore to learn more about Bangalore.
She is fifty seven and has a lot at stake, With each passing master's might, She will survive even if we forsake, Our mother who gave us this height, She is envied by some like a toothless snake, Yet feared for shining so bright, She is a mysterious woman, who will partake, In every sparkle of the planet's light.
In the heart of the Taj, she is a Hindu land. With a mix of everything you can demand. She is the best and worst in the same brand. She is the keeper of nectar and the softest sand. No poem like this can describe how grand, Is a place like her, my mother, my motherland.
