Asphalt mines,and granite walls,petrol and diesel,
Dead, burnt faces and dead burnt souls,
Scarred beliefs and dented conscience,
Hard people pressing against harder lives
In little shacks,they exist…
Intoxicated men sit their spitting,
The women lie their scowling,
With bodies raped and souls abused,
The scornful glint of a childs eye,
Point towards the dusty roads of mourn,
Where an assembly of engines romp,
With black leaders in white clothes,
Chomping on the starved mans body and soul
I bow to you my country
I bow to you thy soul
VANDE MATARAM
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