Half awake far beyond the light sleep of inertia,
I ponder upon the glowing concoction of noises,
I wander upon the people harrowing such charges,
My window my testimony to the world in shambles,

So far yet so near, I am perhaps a voice not to be heard,
But my people have risen from the burrowing of hopes,
And my people are calling to march for the fear of dread,
For countless years have they silenced the chords of society,
The melodies of which will echo today in the walls of notoriety;

History books are witness to the wails of millions,
But the kings and emperors and fascists of the world,
Forget they are but fodder to the soil of the eternal earth;
I rather rip apart my voice, than stay curbed in despair,
In hands, in arms, in ahimsa we will cry the foul of the bad,
In hands, in arms, in ahimsa we will cry the foul of the bad,
Whenever you get beaten up my brothers, chant..
Inquilab zindabad, Inquilab zindabad.

© Rakesh Bal.