Mother India moans

My hand hovers over my colours, they are as sweet as lollies to me,

so delicious I want to eat them, but they have something for you to see.

A palette of pieces of pastels, a colour range so divine,

beckoning me to create form, something that is mine.

My hand moves with my vision, of the brightest India I can see,

Bharat not ravaged and torn, with a plague they cannot flee.

Cotton coloured sarees, cobalt skies and painted joy,

I paint a beaming smile on the face of a small boy.

We hear your cries across the shores and feel your beating breaking heart,

I reach for blue, for pink, for red and paint a brand new start.

Mother India we hear you, your loud moans across the sea,

So I will paint your colours on again, as you used to be.

This germ will not defeat you, the colours tell me so,

Hold on, hold tight and pray, a time will come for it to go.

Touching up my edges, some shading here and there,

Behold you are a vision, a country without a care.

By Lou Symons