Make a note!
I am an Indian
I own my name with a title
That’s embedded even before my birth and
Still rooted in my soil that always mixes with my flesh and blood
My father, his father and all my forefathers,
Got churned in this soil although their souls are in the purgatory
I grew... and the peepal plant I saw in my childhood also grew with me
Stones and grasses I walked on became a walkway
The sky and earth I used to play and sleep amid
The sea with sounding waves, and hills and mountains with echoes
Are the same
Watching the pigeons and other birds sitting over the roof of my home;
I feel no difference
Then why I need to show my blood is red
And that’s still flowing in my body?
I am still alive... but,
Oblivious why my passport is still feeling birth pangs of my title
At this point in time!