Born Free

1947 August 14th 2400 hrs’ , when the world was asleep , a nation woke, and then after it never slept , and it would never. its 60 yrs now, since then this land is Ours , Indians, .

I born on this land , which belongs to me , my parents, my brothers , my sisters , my freinds , my nation , I am Bron Free … How can I thank the one who made be born free , the one who struggeld for my independence , my nations independence …. A Sincere thanks isn’t enough for the souls of the people who struggeled for independence , They wanted to see India as Free , they wanted to see India as proseperous , they wanted to see India as Powerfull , they wanted to see India as a nation of Humanity .
Where the mind is without fear,
and the Head is held High …into
The Heaven of Freedom ,
My Father…….
let My country Awake …….
the nation is awake , but are we really held high into heaven of freedom .
are we the true sucessors of the people , who sacrificed their today for our tommorow ?

Continued ….

HOPE

WHEN by my solitary hearth I sit,
When no fair dreams before my – mind’s eye – flit,
And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head.

Whene’er I wander, at the fall of night,
Where woven boughs shut out the moon’s bright ray,
Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
Peep with the moon-beams through the leafy roof,
And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof.

Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;
When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:
Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,
And fright him as the morning frightens night!

Whene’er the fate of those I hold most dear
Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow,
O bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer;
Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow:
Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!

Should e’er unhappy love my bosom pain,
From cruel parents, or relentless fair;
O let me think it is not quite in vain
To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air!
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!

In the long vista of the years to roll,
Let me not see our country’s honour fade:
O let me see our land retain her soul,
Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom’s shade.
From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed -
Beneath thy pinions canopy my head!

Let me not see the patriot’s high bequest,
Great Liberty! how great in plain attire!
With the base purple of a court oppress’d,
Bowing her head, and ready to expire:
But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings
That fill the skies with silver glitterings!

And as, in sparkling majesty, a star
Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud;
Brightening the half veil’d face of heaven afar:
So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud,
Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shed,
Waving thy silver pinions o’er my head.

John Keats