Streaming through your glorious passage,
The echoing booms of truth and humanity,
History, in reverence, trembles your homage,
Of what worth are my words? Tears too petty.
But, what has come of your state, oh Mother?
Your children bite the breasts that feed;
Dashing at throats, sister and brother,
A fight so futile, a contest of greed.
And as you weep and thicken in pain,
I cry: but in tears I shan’t succumb,
The mire of this tale breeds the cynic, too vain,
Politics and its lot are shunned – evil and numb.
But if leadership is scorned, forgone and cursed,
How on earth, I beg, will we rise to redeem?
From the holy ashes, as the phoenix emerged,
A leader must spring from your feet, oh supreme!
Though the good and honest with us are few,
Theirs, we know, are the paths to speed,
While the masses will see but late their worth,
The march won’t stop in word and deed.
Through every hamlet, city and street,
The pundit’s prophecy to the child’s seeing,
A song, but one, will ring and rein,
Of the unfolding leader, in every being.
And whence this leader awakens in all,
The honest truth will cheer us all.
If India is not to burn in mute,
We each must rise and contribute.