She is a majestic and mystic princes,
reincarnated true the flames of endless love and war,
crowned with the glory of her forefathers
who raised her from the ashes of the middle ages, and
left her standing on a pedestal.
Covered in a misty veil,
she patiently waited for the decades to pass,
waited for the haze to clear
to show the world her unveiled face
Reinvented, now
she has power, she has beauty, she has class.
Enticing the world with scents of ancient perfumes,
dressed in dazzling colorful attire,
from head to toe covered in shimmering sequences,
golden bangles and bindis,
she is voluptuously dancing exotic dances;
The Bhangra, Bihu, the Chomer,
celebrating life, singing Livani
She is a mother to all of her children.
In the realm of her land,
in a heavenly sanctuary she stands
proud and tall,
her head in the mountains high,
her feet deep in the oceans roar.
With arms stretched out from Pakistan to China
in Divine embrace firmly is holding,
breastfeeding all of her sons and daughters.
She still weeps and morns her fallen heroes
who gave her all they had,
to shield her from suffering and bitter pain.
They gave her love, they gave their lives
but not in vain.
For every newborn child who was facing sorrow
now has a chance for a brighter tomorrow
Milica Franchi De Luri
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/india-12/
