The day fades into the dark colors of a dimly lit sky,
As the waves gently brush against a firm rocky shore,
Reverberating the black and white events of a dark cloudy day,
That colored the innocent fates of a million Indians on roar.
I stare into the past as hope gets dim and curtains fall on the play…
They shout the infantile slogans of my love, my place,
They cry prayers of ‘O lord!’ it’s all in your name,
With the glory of warriors on a noble mission, they race,
And act like they never had love, it’s all for our place, our game.
I look behind to only find pyres of love, cries of pain…
And here they wait today, with those same swords stained in holy blood,
For a verdict, a wanting for victory on a land, a barren land,
‘Ayodhya! It’s ours; it’s ours’ all for god, all for good,
They wait, they pray, to a hollow deity, only to find words fallen bland.
I sit today and ask; will they find god? Will they find love? Will they ever find someone?