The 70 years Old Man...

Seventy!
It is not just a number, you see.
Rather this number marks the soul which is free.
Free from being bullied,
because I am brown.
I was bullied by the white people,
who has the Kohinoor on the Crown.

I was not the only one though, to see the torture;
because I myself heard my brother to murmur,
the pain he was going through that day.
How helpless I felt because I had nothing to say.
We didn't forget the date when our bond got lost;
till date, we are both, paying the cost.

Well, I personally did achieve a lot.
Till now I cry and wonder how my babies fought
in Kargil and secured me from other fights,
I still remember the formation of Constitutional Rights.
I still remember how badly I got terrified,
when the Emergency period got me petrified.
My this very brown skin was crowned in Miss World and Miss Universe.
I went to the moon and back,
and also succeeded in touching the Mars.
I suffocate all the time
because of the pollutions caused by the cars.
The tsunami, earthquake and gas tragedy memories are still present as my skin scars.
Two world cups in cricket didn't heal the wound,
but brought a smile.
The rape of my daughters
always make me vile.

No one hugs me though,
instead I hug my children who are dead;
who gave their last breath on the border and bathed in splashes of red.
I still cry every single time,
when I fight with my brother.
How ironical that we both have the colour green, which was gifted by our mother.

His green is just darker
than that of mine.
Body shaming isn't a topic
that should shine.
Then why all the violence on my chest;
rapes, fight, battle and murder.
How pity is that there is not a single old age home,
for me and my brother.

Because I am the National Flag and my brother is the same,
Honey Singh's birthday is remembered by all,
but no one remembers Bhagat Singh's name.