At the junction...

Climbing up the hill so high.
Tired and restless had never been much.
Feels like the sky is about an inch.
I think, Wakhal myself, has never been more touched.
But, suddenly you drag me to a junction, again.
Not so simple, as the journey used to be.

What, hell is this brother, Thamoi?
Why crosses for me?

Like pumpkin plant that grows,
Knows clinging, climbing, aiming heights
But gives fruits to neighbnours only.
Calling strong strangers partners.
Forgotten, outcasted old friend
Now only bushes, roots lonely.

Running with unknown brothers who still neglect you.
Has become one of the round, sharp and sophisticated;
Hiden behind a thin line, look of innocence.

Why brother Wakhal;
Why this betryal of ignorance?

Globalization is the new air we need to breathe.
No more breeze, old patriotic.
No more me, belongs to a sincle race.
Time, it is for a marathon, multi-ethnic.
Germany, Britain joined hands.
Japan hugged America.
Jesus embrassed Allah.
Buddha has kissed Krishna.

Then why brother Thamoi why;
Still cling to an isolated persona?

Individual isolates the crowd or
The crowd isolate the individual?
Seek love and attention.
But what can an urban beggar give.
Gave only blood and destruction.
Dishonesty termed as marketting.
Prefer healthy artificial body and
A new air of chemicals.
But hate young death — eating old patriotic fruits
At the age ninety.
Don't like the mesmerising hums of birds.
More addicted to honks, gun shots and buzz.
Calling nature outdated, boring.
Accepting chemicals a new way of living.

Cant sing a real, own lullaby for a child.
But can play a record in apply.
Welcome, new marathon;
Runners of the new civilization.
Americanization!

Calling other's mother as your.
Accepting others father as well.
While the real had been crushed;
By the new generation like a curse.

Had your ears become too sensitive;
To hear the melancholic lullaby of our green mother mountain;
Protected with nine layers of love and care?
Had your skin become too vunerable to bear the warmth;
Of the plain lap, we were brought up?

Mother is longing and missing her children.
Shedding night after night,
Bearing pains of being torn apart.
Not just two pieces.
But in vain; now you want is all new.

Quote the courage;
The old culture showed to the new tecnologies.
Remember the nights, our grandfathers becoming heroes.
Read the marks left behind on the metal blades,
Trying to convey something.


Brother Wakhal,the new brain blaster,
The educated excuses that you live with,
To stay in a world of yourself.
Has become so powerful that you have forgotten;
Even your last name.

Live with prosperity Mr. Wakhal Singh,
But do remember your brother, Thamoi Khuman.