I am a stranger in my own country,
As I chose to be different.
I am a stranger in my own country,
As I chose to speak my mind.
I am a fool, they say,
I am from a gang, they blame.
I am a heretic, they shout,
And I am a stranger in my own country.
I cry when they hurl stones,
I write when they burn alive,
I feel ashamed when they distort history,
And I am a stranger in my own country.
I am estranged by the war cries,
I am estranged by the holy cow,
I am estranged by the ignorance,
And I am a stranger In my own country.
I live in a world of mine,
As the world around rots.
I bury my ideas as they burn my house,
And I am a stranger in my own country.
‘Good Time’ has come, they say,
Eulogists and sycophants are here to stay,
Love your leader and this land is yours;
Or else pack your bag and run away.
I am a nihilist, they shout,
I am an anarchist, they jibe.
But I know how I have loved my land,
Which now refuses to hold my hand.
And I die every moment as I live,
As I am a stranger in my own country.
Beautiful!! This is just so apt and such a true depiction of many of our thoughts!! Tha k you sir
এ দেশকে ভালোবাসি কি না সেটা যখন প্রমান দিতে হয় ,তখন মাঝে মাঝে মনে হয় সত্যিই কি আমি আমার জন্মভূমিতে stranger .
দারুন লাগল sir.
Yes, we are indeed strangers in our own country and aptly penned Saptarshi Da.
True patriots always ask questions..
Love it ❤
Its really has stolen my mind… and touch my heart…
So beautifully defined…..
Being a stranger in my own country gives an opportunity to become familiar anew..Want to be stranger through out my life..Indeed tour de force task sir..
Somehow I have the same feelings as your.When I even write a positive criticism I feel I am being spied and erase my comments.I was never so such.I protested even against the tiniest wrong.But now I feel strangulated and have broken my pen and will feel broken until I again get the assurance on my own of not being bogged down by immoral cowards.