When borders are warmed by the war,
Heart beats hard and blood is boiled,
When lives are laid down at the altar,
Only then our patriotism begins to rise.
The houses of heroes are thronged,
Rallies are held, rewards announced,
Tears are shed, speeches are made,
Guns stop and none is around.
Ashes cool and none care for them,
Who cares for those real sons of soil?
Who cares for those they left behind?
Why does then, our patriotism dies?
What kind of love for country is this?
What kind of unworthy sons we are?
We strangulate our mother every-day,
We fast for her during the war.
On august the 15th and 26th Jan,
And when a war movie is screened,
We chant the praise of motherland,
And rest days we forget it seems.
Songs are played and words are said,
Only to be forgotten the day after,
The paper flag that flutters with pride,
Is dumped around hither and thither.
What kind of patriotism is this?
Selfish and opportunistic to core,
Our love is like those waves in sea,
Rising high and dying on shore.
Will times change, will the day come?
When patriotism will be redefined,
When we will rise above the self,