Dreams

The moon shines bright in the night;
The child sleeps peacefully in a cradle white.
A lock of hair lies on her brow
Her tunic is as white as snow.

The mother sits by, reading a book
Regarding her child with a loving look,
She softly a lullaby sings,
Her voice as soft as an owl’s wings.

The child slowly begins to dream
And in the dream is a clear stream.
But oh! The child does unusually think,
For the stream in the dream is pink!

From the stream she catches a fish
Thinking, oh good, it will make a very good dish!
But it is rather ugly, she thinks with a pout
Right then the fish, from her grip, slips right out!

She awakens with a sudden cry
Her mother soothingly wipes her soft cheeks dry.
The child gradually goes back to sleep.
And this time, she goes in deep.

India, my country

India is not a land of snake charmers anymore!
Oh no! It is the land of Gandhi and Tagore.
A land of culture and tradition,
Which is the result of a long process of evolution.

A place where 'the head is held high',
Where tradition does not die.
India is famous in all the world for its spices
The cuisine naturally entices.

We are the world's largest producers of milk,
Not to be left behind in tea, cotton and silk.
We gave the world its first university
Of software developers, we have the second largest community.

Beautiful is the architecture of the Qutub and the Taj
These beauties were in place since the time of the British Raj.
Famous indeed is the 'Lady with the lamp'
She is comparable with none on the ramp.

To this day I wish to say
I am more proud of my country than I can convey.