I Call It Home

 I Call It Home


Not the friendliest of places

The winds sear your skin in sun

Barrens of spaces

winters without mercy

nature in its opposites

made its abode in our nature

invaders have gone in bits

one after the other

where outsiders had little say

From Mughals to British

Pummeled in this soil, they lay

Something in its water is there

It breads revolt than wheat

Patriots, poets, killers, bandits

Stand equal in its heat

Time passes over this land

Future onus of our past

Yet in stubbornness it stands

Unflinching, undaunted

It resists fiercely

like a soothing, rooted tree

Honesty though unsweet


Make it a badland of my country

You cannot conquer it

Where sages, demons roam

They call it Chambal

But I call it Home.
Siddharth Sehgal

Siddharth Sehgal is a writer based in New Delhi, India. He is the editor of online, weekly Indian Periodical and writes on social, political and cultural issues.


Post a Comment

Previous Post Next Post