The red in my veins

Iss mitti ke banne hai hum, issi mitti ki hui humari raakh,

Keemat hai hum logo ki? Marte jo hai Roz hazaro laakh,

Nahi dekhna aiina, nahi dekhna kadd, kya karungi mein unn cheezo ka?

Khoon bahao hazaro boond, ashru an-ginat, phir bhi sote hai woh chain ki neend Roz raat.

I'm tired, lord, I'm so tired. My hands red from pulling every rope I could to stop them, my feet sore from running towards every refuge.

Bury me in the land that I birthed in, in the arms of the mother that fed me, on the lap of the father that taught me how to walk. Why must you break my home for the sins of man?

Mother has been hurt for years, centuries even, and you stood and watched, oh father, why must we follow your accord now? It will leave us with nothing to cherish, more so, no tears to cry. Why must you starve your children for the mistakes of man?

This land they see, this land they think they rule, is alive, I can feel her, I can feel mother breathe. Every stone, every leaf, every gust of wind has a name here and I can hear it. They aren't wrong to be blinded by the green in their pockets, even I am, just that my green is mother's beauty, not her price.

Every night, a tear leaves her eyes, red, red like the red in my veins, she calls out to me, not for me to fight for her, just for me to caress her head, maybe a kiss on the forehead, leave a glass of water on the bedside, most of all, give her the love she gave us.

Father maybe you don't know her well, but she once whispered to me as I tucked her in that if I dig deep enough, I will send nothing buth red, the red of her womb, the womb everyone can out of, and the same red that circuits withing each of us. Take care of her father, for she can always have more children, we can't get another mother.