Someday, when my breath shall cease to be,
And time reclaims what was lent to me,
The stage will darken, the curtain descend,
Yet beyond the sun, my soul will transcend.
But in hearts where my love took its stand,
I’ll linger eternal—a voice, not sand.
Through kin and kindred, duty’s sweet thread,
I’ll pulse in their veins, though my flesh be dead.
With a quill dipped in fire, my soul I’ll unbind,
And pour forth the tempest that raged in my mind.
Each word a balm, each verse a spark,
To light the abyss where shadows grow dark.
Death, that riddle wrapped in night’s embrace,
I’ve danced with its shadow, yet won the race.
For I die each dawn, yet rise anew,
A phoenix in flames, baptized in dew.
A laugh like a chime—though forged, not free—
Rings bright as the sun on a storm-tossed sea.
For death was a stranger, a tale untold,
Till I kissed its lips and touched the cold.
Today, reborn, with dreams untamed,
A thousand suns in my chest are framed.
The pyre may wait, the grave may call,
But I’ll chase joy’s palace and conquer all.
For I am Hindustan—vibrant, vast,
A tapestry woven of future and past.
No end, no silence, no chains can hold
The spirit that soars through crimson and gold.