My Dust, My Soil
I am carved out of this soil,
How can you toss me out?
I am here, I was here and I shall ever be here.
I died to melt away in this dust,
Just to rise from this dust again & again.
Centuries & centuries have gone by,
Rivers have moved to other paths.
Cities got buried under tons of soil,
People came, kings came,
Kingdoms came, Kingdoms crumbled.
What remains but was me.
I keep sprouting out of this dust,
Every iota of this soil has me in it.
I am Rama, I was banished from Ayodhya,
But I returned to the bursting crackers.
I am Krishna, Kansa attempted to finish,
Only to be decimated by me.
Armies came to demolish all,
Only to be dissolved in this very soil.
The very soil sprang me up again & again,
I have many names,
Ram, Krishna, Sita, Radha, Mustafa, Khadija.
But what remains ever is this very soil,
And when one man drew a line on this soil.
Asking me to move to the other side of the line,
I just refused.
I rejected what he declared.
I clung to this very dust.
As my every iota,
Is made of nothing but this dust.
Now you decide to banish me from this soil.
Can you?
I am this soil,
I am carved out of this dust.
How can you toss me out?
I dare you to try it.
Kings came, kingdoms banished,
But what remains ever is the truth.
And that truth is me.
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