Upon The Holy Sands Of My Motherland

Water would have fallen short,

For the litres of blood spilt,

For those litres of blood spilt,

Those responsible were a dangerous sort.



Fair skin, bright red uniforms,

Suits and suits of armour,

Upon the holy sands of my Motherland,

They came and stuck their honour.



In perish they found their pride-

In conquer they found themselves gold.

They did not know that-

Upon the holy sands of my motherland,

There were beings just as bold.



So fights went on, so did protests.

We took the torture, the bullets to our chest.

But the fight went on.

And it did end, one dark midnight.

Indians were Indians- we had won the fight.

Shunted away were the bright red uniforms,

The atrocities they brought with themselves too.

The INC governed us,

But they were very few.



India’s freedom did not come overnight.

We did not believe in something- wanted it set right.

It was the spirit of every individual,

every soul in those days.

That I am able to write this today,

Is because they fought that phase.



And if someone sits in government offices

And makes fun of that mother’s face-

Who cried because she had lost her son,

That son who served the country-

They would have to mend their ways.

Because-

Upon the holy sand of my motherland,

We will relive those days.