You are the glorious gilded past, an ancient, fascinating civilization,
You housed brocaded moghuls,
Cultivate peepals and bougainvillea,
and a million varieties of mangoes.
Mother India, you have always been a
kaleidoscope of color, light, beauty.
But something has gone very wrong
Mind-numbing Poverty,
Repulsive corruption eruption,
Explosive population,
Intense ignorance,
More misogyny than the Saudis.
How do we restore you to your former glory?
It's time to admit to your faults,
It's time to reform,
And I don't mean that flashy band aid you place over your gaping slum wounds,
the one you call progress.
How do we restore you to your former glory?
It's time to reform,
And I don't mean that flashy band aid you place over your gaping slum wounds,
the one you call progress.
Blame colonization.
Blame mass migration abandonment.
But just like the partying mom on crack and despair,
You must finally become responsible for your own destiny.
Grow up.
Become my Mother again.
But just like the partying mom on crack and despair,
You must finally become responsible for your own destiny.
Grow up.
Become my Mother again.
3 comments:
I've been thinking about this poem, and I've come to the conclusion that Iqbal probably would have used crack mom references in his poetry, too- had crack been invented at that time.
Love this poem...speaks so eloquently to the current issues India is struggling with.
Brilliant! Powerful, painful and true!
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