She is a majestic and mystic princes, <br />reincarnated true the flames of endless love and war, <br />crowned with the glory of her forefathers <br />who raised her from the ashes of the middle ages, and <br />left her standing on a pedestal. <br />Covered in a misty veil, <br />she patiently waited for the decades to pass, <br />waited for the haze to clear <br />to show the world her unveiled face <br />Reinvented, now <br />she has power, she has beauty, she has class. <br />Enticing the world with scents of ancient perfumes, <br />dressed in dazzling colorful attire, <br />from head to toe covered in shimmering sequences, <br />golden bangles and bindis, <br />she is voluptuously dancing exotic dances; <br />The Bhangra, Bihu, the Chomer, <br />celebrating life, singing Livani <br />She is a mother to all of her children. <br />In the realm of her land, <br />in a heavenly sanctuary she stands <br />proud and tall, <br />her head in the mountains high, <br />her feet deep in the oceans roar. <br />With arms stretched out from Pakistan to China <br />in Divine embrace firmly is holding, <br />breastfeeding all of her sons and daughters. <br />She still weeps and morns her fallen heroes <br />who gave her all they had, <br />to shield her from suffering and bitter pain. <br />They gave her love, they gave their lives <br />but not in vain. <br />For every newborn child who was facing sorrow <br />now has a chance for a brighter tomorrow<br /><br />Milica Franchi De Luri<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/india-12/
