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Mother India


She’s crazy in parts
She giggles and sings
She twirls on her toes
Till it giddiness brings

Her hair is bedecked
With ribbons and flowers
Her silky attire
Is all sequined with stars.

She sprinkles the land
With verdant rich fields.
From the milk in her breasts
The rivers she feeds.

She’s a pretty cool mother
She moves with the times
She’s not much of a stickler
For metre or rhyme.

If her kids get into squabbles
She doesn’t throw a fit
She knows that sooner or later
By her knees , they will sit.

Sometimes she leads them through alleys
Of her wonderful past
And they listen to the whisperings
Of a pure wisdom that lasts.

That done, she blows bubbles
Like a carefree village belle
And then scoots over the highway
To where the city lights dwell.

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Posted by on August 11, 2011 in India, Poetry

 

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