(This poem was written on 26th January 2009 on the Republic Day parade at India Gate, New Delhi.)

MARCH OF TIME

The parade marches onNeat files,

Arm and armShoulder to shoulder

Straight and tallSo brave and bronze

They refuse to watchThe little ones

And scamper off Like little rabbits

In search of their carrots or play.

They don’t want to seeThey would rather play or just be

But they don’t want to watch Others fathers march past

And get decorated for valourAnd courageous deedsThey would rather hide And be somewhere else

For the face they wanted to see Was not there They knew.

Tears had welled up in mother’s breastShaken to the core

Unbelieving and taken abackFreshly hurt and sore

Years and years passDecade and a quarter Of toil and hard grind

It’s another place Another ageAnother time

The parade marches on Again

But it’s muted and stifled This particular year

After the terrorists and bombsThe 26 / 11’s and such going ons

They sit and watch togetherThe parade marching onThe laying of the wreath

At the India GateFor the eternal soldier

Who died fighting for peaceThe eternal flame burning on

With armed forces in attendance

They watched the medalsAnd the awards

Being givenTo the valourous soldiers kith and kin

They watched with swelling hearts And overwhelming pride

The entire glorious ceremonyAnd the mother satHolding her breath

Seeing them drink in every detailEager and curious

About everyone and everything.

Tears rose up and flowedDown her face

Her children were searching For their father once againTrying to connect with him

Through the parade.