MY COUNTRY

 My country has 

six main religions and 

two hundred castes 

She has two seventy mother tongues and 

ten skin colours.

She has twenty taste buds and fifty wardrobes. 

My country has two billion perfumes in her vanity bag made of golden threads. 

My country wears saffron saree 

And is afraid of hijab sometimes. 

My country walks in dirty lanes with crocodile tears and ask the missionaries to be silent.

My country allows her children to believe in whatever they want until it is her choice.

She sings lullabies with bullets while asking her daughters to stay inside on new year's eve.

She asks them to stay silent, iron the shirts and 

wash the dirty dishes.

She tells her sons that they are not supposed to cry

My country defines people and love in two genders 

My country ignores the farmers dying in roads

Her Dal tastes of blood ,

Her art galleries full of what she wants to believe as her story 

My country speaks of equality but fails to  define and practice it  

My country sometimes weeps for Kohinoor but never about the forgotten children who fights for her. 

My country has mouth ulcers when we ask questions 

My country has a black marker to erase the words we are not supposed to read 

My country is a collage that we fail to understand 

My country is a mother with depression, and a father without an income 

My country has two seventy mother tongues 

But still has to find a single word for "love".

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