Independence
  She wants Freedom            She is our mother, our holy land   How free she is, I don’t understand   I don’t understand the rules of our land,   So poor, so depraved, crafted with a shaking hand     Just like our mother cries when we are hurt   She too mourns:       when someone is hurt,   when someone is raped and thrown into a drain,   when a farmer kills self in paucity of grain,   when poor gets poorer and disparity becomes steep,   when a homeless man is killed while asleep,   when a soldier is beheaded at the border,   when relations with neighbors go out of order     Our mother wails, she cries sadly   Tears of helplessness flow incessantly   Seldom do we see or feel her cry   We neither feel the need, nor do we try     She looks stunning though, a thing of incredible beauty   A countenance full of grace, peace and serenity   Eyes like saline seas, mysterious and misty   Swelling with heavy tears but holding them tightly   just managing to keep her face pure and pretty     Sh...