Dear India, I am Carved Out of This Soil, How Can You Toss me Out?

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.

(All 'My Report' branded stories are submitted by citizen journalists to The Quint. Though The Quint inquires into the claims/allegations from all parties before publishing, the report and the views expressed above are the citizen journalist's own. The Quint neither endorses, nor is responsible for the same.)