The autumn wind of fourteen-
ninety- nine
Blew over Basel in a crisp, sharp
line,
Where Swabian battles found their
silent close,
And from the ash, a sovereign
peace arose.
On twenty-second days of that
September chill,
The ink was dried, the clashing
swords were still.
The Holy Empire loosed its ancient
hold,
As Swiss resolve was etched in lines
of gold.
The treaties signed, the mountain
cantons free,
To chart their course of armed
neutrality.
While far away, across the shifting
deep,
Old empires woke from centuries of
sleep.
The month drew closed, the
modern world awake,
With every bond the Swiss had
dared to break.
A second half of autumn, fierce and
grand,
That drew the borders of a fearless
land.
American naturalist and writer, Henry David Thoreau,
left society for a cabin in woods to live simply and solo.
He hunted arrowheads, wrote essays, poetry and philosophy.
A leading transcendentalist was America’s first hippy.
I miss you
I MISS YOU (how to let go?)
Why can't I be with you?
Every day like the sunshine.
They say time heals all wounds,
But my Heart is
for all eternity to yours
Bound.
I have to comprehend,
I can't see you..
It sounds like a joke,
But to miss you this much,
It really breaks my heart!
For Pierre.
A field of blue
For who?
US or you
If I red, this right
About the American white
Knight's
Field of blue
Seeking justice true
Using a vigilant eagle eye
Persevering every try
Proudly raising the flag high
It flies
Message sent
Throughout the forging valley's tent
Watching old glory touch the stars
Blue field defends its red, white bars
Healing any freedom scars
Fifty or thirteen
It all means
The same
When one claims
An independent life
While piping the fife
And banging a drum
Feeling welcome
Under the blue sky
Where the American flag flies
High
Sounding the call
Down at the mall
Holiday sale all
Month long
Playing patriotic songs
Before debating what is wrong
Making us blue
Wondering exactly what is true?
That is how we act
And if you do not like it, go pack
Years roll on,
Independence Day returns,
A flag unfurls, and memory burns.
From Delhi’s skies to New York’s cheer,
India’s spirit echoes clear.
Tea is poured in distant lands,
Cultures meet with gentle hands.
A sip in New York, 2026,
Global voices in harmony mix.
Work once rooted in India’s ground,
Reaches to height when values found.
In U.S. halls, the lens is true.
Massive seas, wide roads that bend,
Streets and bridges without end.
Civil marvels, steel and stone,
Give weary eyes a resting tone.
And through it all, a soul will see,
The journey’s more than geography.
Each step, each day, each fleeting view,
Is history lived, becoming new.
21 Aug 2026
Rashmi Pawar, India
April plays a foolish part,
A warm embrace that tricks the heart.
While showers promise flowers soon,
I find a hundred thorns by June.
A chaotic peace, a subtle clash,
Bright tulips turning into ash.
Where silence wins and pride prevails,
The sweetest dream of summer fails.
The morning dew drops to the past,
As everything is moving fast.
I finally untie the knot,
To treasure my own solo shot.
On this Independence Day
in Delhi, flags whisper.
The march continues;
dawn keeps the song,
hands linked
across time and hope.
river saraswati dries
Parading india creates man
During peace,parading india accelrates breathing
During war,parading india stops enemies' breathing
Such miracle is india
When war is thrust upon
Parading india wins war
During peace,prading india accelrates breathing
During war,parading india stops enemies' breathing
Such miracle is india
When epidemic is thrust upon
parading india evolves panacea
During peace,parading india accelrates breathing
During war,parading india stops enemies' breathing
Such miracle is india
When recession is thrust upon
Parading india prepares gravitating metal-filled astronomical bodies
During peace,parading india accelrates breathing
During war,parading india stops enemies' breathing
Such miracle is india
JASMINE IN THE DARK
Like jasmine through the cracked walls, it grew,
Freedom bloomed at midnight, 1947, anew.
With blood of millions, martyrs paved the way,
With prayers of countless, buried stars that stay.
Hope was dancing on the soil of peace,
Through struggle and fire, it would never cease.
Green light rose on the map of the world,
A flag of faith and courage unfurled.
Red ink wrote it on history’s page,
With hearts of hope and a lion’s rage.
A child was born with Allah’s blessing light,
A home for Muslims, standing for what’s right.
To soldiers brave who gave their all,
To martyrs whose names we still recall.
Through trials, storms, and darkest night,
Pakistan stands — a symbol of light.
79 years on, our pride won’t fade,
This jasmine nation was born, and made.
They took our country from us,
They took our lands from us.
Yet could not chain our voice,
Nor silence freedom's poise.
They burnt our homes to dust,
They crushed our dreams unjust.
But still we rise with flame,
With liberty in name.
They're harming our people,
They're killing our lives.
They are the most punishable,
In depth of our eyes.
Are you people ready for
Liberty or death?
Our goal stands for
Liberty or death.
Our freedom is our breath,
Our oath is liberty or death.
We'll break their chain,
Or perish in the rain.
India is our motherland
We have cold places and desert sand
It's not too hot
It's not to cold
Our culture is vast
Our religions are old
The people here are funny
We cook a lot of dishes
Our languages are many
We fulfill each others' wishes
We give everyone a chance
And do different kinds of dance
India is my country
It is rich in diversity
Our history and our past
So so very vast
Our Air force, Army, Navy
Are all very wise
We respect them
For they have saved our lives
Recalling the bicentennial of 1976
celebrations galore, folks yearning for more
Not as many festivities in 2026
those that were, considerably muted
Alongside the cheers, a chorus of boos
What say you? ~ Did you notice too?
Freedom, Rewritten
They gave us a beginning
ink on paper,
voices in rebellion,
a spark that refused to fade.
We carry that spark differently now.
Some hold it in paintbrushes,
some in music,
some in words typed beneath the midnight skies
some in dreams that refuse to stay small.
Freedom is not frozen in a museum.
It is alive in every generation
that dares to question, create, and imagine.
We look back at the footsteps behind us,
not to stay there,
but to understand the road we walk.
The past gave us the foundation.
The present gives us the voice.
The future waits for our imagination.
So let the fireworks rise
not just for what was won,
but for what we are still building.
Because freedom is not a final page.
It is a blank canvas,
and every one of us holds the pen.
Freedom, Rewritten
They gave us a beginning
ink on paper,
voices in rebellion,
a spark that refused to fade.
We carry that spark differently now.
Some hold it in paintbrushes,
some in music,
some in words typed beneath the midnight skies
some in dreams that refuse to stay small.
Freedom is not frozen in a museum.
It is alive in every generation
that dares to question, create, and imagine.
We look back at the footsteps behind us,
not to stay there,
but to understand the road we walk.
The past gave us the foundation.
The present gives us the voice.
The future waits for our imagination.
So let the fireworks rise
not just for what was won,
but for what we are still building.
Because freedom is not a final page.
It is a blank canvas,
and every one of us holds the pen.
A breath of fresh air rests the mind
Cooking with smoky flavors, tenderism refined
Personal space to make choices
Voting in favor as independence rejoices
It protects unwarranted intrusion
Breaking the borders of exclusion
Light and sound
Fight or flight
Fireworks all around
Every vision so bright
True freedom is letting go
As an independent nation is one to know
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