The Golden Bird

By Keya Gupta

They came to me—

The land once known as the golden bird,

The land that dreamed of one world’s creed,

Where condemning others’ ways was truly absurd.

They came as traders, blinding each soul,

Till they clung to my people, a leech beyond control.

They did deeds most foul,

Where even making salt bore a toll.

They came to westernize my education,

They came to whiten my culture's creation

They came to erase the land that dreamed of Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam,

But alas—could not silence Mangal Pandey’s drum

They could not uproot the patriot in each Indian,

They tortured our souls, devised their doctrine of lapse

But alas, coud'nt be more than jesters

In the land that wanted more than the British game perhaps

They stole my achievements,

Branded them as their own.

They robbed the spark from Nalanda’s flame,

Yet preached that knowledge in their name.

They took my soil, my voice, my name,

Yet couldn’t douse my inner flame.

Through struggle deep, through pain profound,

I rose again—freedom in every sound.

By Keya Gupta