OCTOBER SECOND: Mahatma Gandhi and INDIA
It is a sacred day in a sacred month
the day on which the great soul descended
on the blessed soil of Bharath
Many summers passed silently
He wore a black gown and fought the British in SA
The scent of Indian soil brought him back
Into the quagmire of struggle for freedom
The brown man among the white men
But he produced a spark , a harmless spark
Which was fanned into great fire with harmless heat
But the fire fired the whites without a bullet
The WHITE VULTURES flew with fire on their wings
over the blue seas they flew ,the last flight
The SUN set on their empire ,built on blood
They are still nursing the bruised wings
The colours orange ,white and green flew
Over the unfortified red fort with flourish
But the Sun and the Moon were washed red
With the blood of Indians ,our brothers and sisters
Te liberated souls flew up and looked alike
Soon the Crescent rose i the west over the desert
the great soul wept and the tears dropped on the crescent
The tortured SOUL went up and we burned the shell
And our reductive power reduced Gandhi the Mahatma
Into a date ,a mere date ,OCTOBER SECOND
A HOLIDAY
We are unhappy
If it is a SUNDAY
For we lose a holiday
Shame on us ,but we shall change
Let Indians remember Gandhiji
By following his teachings
Lines by Profvarma ( Dr. R. B Varma )
It is a sacred day in a sacred month
the day on which the great soul descended
on the blessed soil of Bharath
Many summers passed silently
He wore a black gown and fought the British in SA
The scent of Indian soil brought him back
Into the quagmire of struggle for freedom
The brown man among the white men
But he produced a spark , a harmless spark
Which was fanned into great fire with harmless heat
But the fire fired the whites without a bullet
The WHITE VULTURES flew with fire on their wings
over the blue seas they flew ,the last flight
The SUN set on their empire ,built on blood
They are still nursing the bruised wings
The colours orange ,white and green flew
Over the unfortified red fort with flourish
But the Sun and the Moon were washed red
With the blood of Indians ,our brothers and sisters
Te liberated souls flew up and looked alike
Soon the Crescent rose i the west over the desert
the great soul wept and the tears dropped on the crescent
The tortured SOUL went up and we burned the shell
And our reductive power reduced Gandhi the Mahatma
Into a date ,a mere date ,OCTOBER SECOND
A HOLIDAY
We are unhappy
If it is a SUNDAY
For we lose a holiday
Shame on us ,but we shall change
Let Indians remember Gandhiji
By following his teachings
Lines by Profvarma ( Dr. R. B Varma )
