Gandhiji, do you squirm sometimes?
Do you quiver and quake often?
Satyagraha keeps getting hijacked
Non-violence has lost its ‘non’
A headless freak, it often runs amok
A bulldozer mowing down all in its path
When we rejoiced at our liberty
not a drop of British blood was spilled!
But this sadly gored land of ours was
dyed deep red; became the burning ghat
for mutilated corpses of our countrymen...
Freedom took more than her pound of flesh!
Your resolve for peace at any cost
resurrected spectres of perceived fears;
inflamed tongues of seething rancour
rampaged naked through the streets
You were decorated with a bullet
Gandhiji, brown was the hand that shot you!
How slashed our beloved country!
Her dormant wounds still fester
incendiary distrust and selectiveness
ignite wildfires of massacre and horror...
as her fragile soul crumbles and writhes
Gandhiji, when will you reincarnate as her saviour?