Birds stops flying Triolet

The bird flies and skips, branch to branch,
finds no place, to have the complete rest.
On a day it would have got the chance,
The bird flies and skips, branch to branch.
In Garden of Eden, at last would launch.
Shall find, there; its sweet celestial nest.
The bird flies and skips, branch to branch,
finds no place, to have the complete rest.

The bird stops flying and to skip,
she gets exact place, to finally rest.

Now no more distress, finished her trip.

The bird stops flying and to skip.
To the tree of life, she would clip.

Fruits of the Eden, she shall taste.  

The bird stops flying and to skip,
she gets exact place to finally rest.

Wings of butterfly

Beauty of the wings, in their colours lies.
with colourless wings, worried is, butterfly,

Decides to not bother, she yet can fly,
more important for her, to wander in the sky.

The colours on the wings are her pride,
but it is set of her wings, on which she glides.

The colours are for viewers, to like or dislike.
She needs just two sets wings, to sigh.

Though beauty is passion of every butterfly,
but knows, colourless not going to die.

With white or black, she can easily sustain,
if any of the wings goes, can't bear the pain.

Salute to Indian Martyrs

They gave up, their joy and youthfulness; 
sacrificed their lives for the nation. 

So as, live in peace and freedom,

their future generations. 

Soil is coloured in the blood of
Bhagat, Sukhdev, Rajguru and Mangal.
Bravery and sacrifices of Azad and
Subhash Chandra Bose were regal.

List of martyrs is very long,
and many names have been lost,
but the soil of land is yet wet,
their blood can't defrost.

Because of their great sacrifices
mother India smiled,
And feels safe and secured yet today,
her each and every child.

In the free India too,
many people have given their lives.
Their devotion to the nation,
made everyone peacefully thrive.

But the leaders indulged in scandals,
hardly think of their deeds;
divide the nation in caste and religion
to satisfy their selfish needs.

Unless every citizen gets justice
how can we say, the country free.
Many live with curse of poverty,
few have massive wealth's glee.

Politicians trade on the souls of martyrs,
for their own political cause.
Sometimes make memorials; 
to sing in elections, 'their deed, it was'.

Alas! who burns the tiranga,
he is sung by whole of the media.
Who comes covered in tiranga,
after his funeral, forgets India.

Wake up, O countrymen! and
remember the martyr's sacrifices.
Pay back, by keeping their land safe,
peaceful, fair, progressive and delighted.




From the sky, whenever, Bapu would have watched, 

Who distorted my country, he would have thought. 

Gandhi himself is disturbed, whose picture he sees?
Handed in the hands of the leaders, whether, same it is?
Sometimes worried, sometimes have felt out of sorts.  
Who distorted …

They have gathered, all sorts of the things enjoyable. 
To acquire, indulged themselves in lot of scandals.  
Alike them neither been, nor be in time to come forth.
Who distorted …

After they win the elections, they think them supreme.
Pilfer wealth of the public, to the extent of extreme. 
Seeing his successors, he must have been feeling abashed.  
Who distorted …