The Golden Bird

I am a golden bird

That perches on Indian soul

I flutter with Orange-White-Green of 'tiranga'

And hail 'jai hind' with vaunt. 

I meet a boy, young and weak

His cracked fingers know nothing to write

He glares with dull eyes like lunatic

I don't think he knows me. 

There is a girl who stares hopelessly

Her matrimony dances in flames of patriarchy

She burns with bruises on her body

If she could walk on the trails of Rani Jhasi. 

A confident woman in jeans and a T-shirt

And two men lust her like wild predators

She walks shivering with anxiety

She predicts the evil forthcoming accurately. 

And I an independent golden bird

Still sours with dignity

Long have I travelled

And far I have to travel.