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.