Country calling,home coming is like a void
This rain reciprocates the smell
Of my soil where I dwell
The soil resembles as if a mirror
Within which resides my golden culture
Is the heart of my country
This rain rhetors it's poetry
My country's independence & aim
Was like a golden lion's dream
But it is tired,as if in hibernation
Dreams about the past's perception
Ancient glory was great indeed
Past is done with ,it's dead
One hope seems like Pandora's box
I.e, New government ,new sensex
This magic can not be overnight
Mob rules the revolution,fight
Needs perceptual transformation
For an integral migration
My soil breaths for a new life,
As if craves for a resurgence
Real westernisation denotes
An increase in growth,welfare,
Not mere hubristic buildings
Not only to show off attire,here
True development happens
If poorest of poor betters off
Westernised mentalities,attitudes
As a woman the safest,rises up.
Cleanliness of each particle
Of my country's geography
Prohibition of dust molecule
Developing traffic sense,not the hegemony
Still my India ,my country is hurt,
My golden lion in hibernation
Near the sea shore,with a heavy heart
Mentality needs a gigantic revolution
To a gain a roaring forties ,jovial golden lion
Raising true spirit of my population,it's ambition.
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