Thank you, India!
Thanks for your skill with fabric.
Thanks for your looms of magic.
For centuries in our World,
Your cotton threads were firmly twirled.
Thanks for clothes that keep us warm,
That help save us from the storm,
But there is one swatch that brings me joy.
Hail to that awesome wonder,
Beautiful, beautiful corduroy.
Thank you.
Bravest Sons of India – Neuve-Chapelle, 1915.
(Linking Pin Sonnet – Dr. Joseph Spence Sr. Style)
India’s sons marched where guns roared in flame,
Flame lit their path as the Lahore men onward pressed,
Pressed with the Meerut through wire none could tame,
Tamed only by hearts in brave Garhwal dressed.
Dressed for the storm, Gurkha steel cut the way,
Way through the fire where the Kaiser’s men stood,
Stood firm for the flag in that Flanders day,
Day paid in blood for the world’s greater good.
Good men they were, yet no grave bears their name,
Name clearly carved instead on memorial white,
White stone in France tells the tale of their fame,
Famed in the East, now in every nations’ sight.
Sight holds their valor where red poppies still sway,
Swayed by the winds, they march with us today.
© USA Goodwill Ambassador, Professor Dr. Jospeh S. Spence Sr. August 12, 2025. All Rights Reserved.
India ascent to mount everest
India known to be finest economy
But dead economy echoes nation-wide
India known to be military might
But india is outweaponised by enemy's hypersonic jets
India known to be emerging hindu nation
But no reincarnation,no salvation
does India suffers from activities deficit phobia,sovereignty deficit, phobia,height phobia?
india's highest peak expedition without getting eaten alive
Into the thin air,out of thin air
India ascent to mount everest
It is perfectly fine
to chase wealth
to build a life of gold
and a career that sparkles in the sun.
But it is not fine to forget
what it means to be just
to lose the path of virtue
for Dharma is the soul’s compass
and without it, even grace demands a cost
Know this:
the riches & the fame
the applause & the beauty
they are only tools, not truth.
True living begins
not with what you hold
but with how you walk
in righteousness
in virtue
in peace with the self.
When silence breaks with a siren's cry,
And ash clouds darken the morning sky,
Two nations rise with wrathful might,
Blind to peace, prepared to fight.
Where rivers flowed through fields so wide,
Now burn with rage on either side.
Flags once fluttered in monsoon air,
Now mark the graves of young laid bare.
The tanks roll in, the bombers fly,
The missiles arc across the sky.
Steel and fire tear the dawn apart,
Each strike a wound to the human heart.
And then the flash — a blinding white,
Day turns to dusk, and noon to night.
Mushroom clouds in dreadful bloom,
Cities fall in silent gloom.
No victors left, no songs to sing,
Only echoes of what war will bring:
Children charred, and mothers weep,
Fathers buried in endless sleep.
The air is poison, the soil is dead,
The living envy those who bled.
No border now, just common pain,
Shared by the ash and acid rain.
What was it for — this fatal pride,
That turned the world to suicide?
India, Pakistan — names now lost,
To power's game and mankind’s cost.
Oh leaders drunk on hate and fear,
Is this the glory you held dear?
Let this be written, carved in stone:
Peace is a seed, war reaps a tomb.
Borders are lines drawn in dust,
but the wails of war ride the wind—
no map can contain a scream.
War does not choose a side;
it is a fire that devours both hearth and forest.
One body may bleed,
but the other's soul turns to ash.
From far behind velvet curtains
and polished screens,
war looks like a chessboard—
moves, strategy, gain.
But at the front,
it is the breaking of mothers,
the hollowing of eyes,
the earth drinking youth
like a thirsty beast.
To desire war
is to kiss the mouth of a storm
and expect calm.
It is to strike a match
and pray for shade.
To crave war
is to summon violence,
and violence
has never cradled peace.
Violence is never the solution—
it is the echo of failure,
the shatter of reason,
the road that leads nowhere
but ruin.
Prancing peacock
Taking in the sunshine of dawn,
Prancing peacock
Calling its mate by its honk-squawk,
Its plush plumage makes you look on,
You gaze at it with breath indrawn,
Prancing peacock.
In the summer heat of '47's cry,
A line was drawn beneath the sky.
Not ink, but blood, not words, but flame—
Two nations born, but none the same.
Fields once golden, shared with grace,
Now whispered names in a stranger’s place.
Neighbors turned to fleeing feet,
Homes abandoned, hearts incomplete.
The Ganga wept, the Indus roared,
As trains of silence onward soared.
One carried dreams, the other pain,
Each bound by history's heavy chain.
Mothers clutched their children tight,
As dusk replaced the promise of light.
The earth was split, but souls entwined,
By love, by loss, by ties maligned.
Yet even as the borders grew,
In every heart, an ember flew—
Of songs once sung in shared embrace,
Of temples, mosques, a common space.
Now time walks slow through wounds unhealed,
Through stories still too deep to yield.
But in the hush of evening's breath,
Hope blooms quietly out of death.
May memory teach what lines erase,
That peace begins with face to face.
Not walls, but bridges must we chart—
For no one owns a human heart.
I come from a place with Mahogany trees,
With bowers of fragrant flowers surrounded by bees,
I come from a land where within it- culture and language differ,
Still humanity and brotherhood is what we prefer.
I come from a place where the poor are fed,
A place where throughout the host's house the guests are led,
A place where love and humanity is filled,
Where towers of care, trust and hope in our hearts we do build.
Across oceans and decades, my daughter and I set sail,
Returning to the land where my roots still whispered my name.
Sixty years apart, yet the pulse of home still flowed through my veins,
A river winding back to its source, never truly lost.
Words became bridges, stitching past and present with ease.
My daughter, though a stranger to Hindi’s full embrace,
Spoke in laughter, in gestures, in a language older than words—
And in their eyes, she became the brightest star in our sky.
Feasts unfolded like pages of an old, beloved book,
Each dish a story, each sip of tea a memory reborn.
Generations stood together—parents, children, and their own little ones,
Echoes of my youth dancing through my high school halls,
Where time had carved my name but left my spirit untouched.
Tea time carried the fragrance of childhood once more—
Mother’s voice weaving warmth through gossip and laughter,
The sweet hush of togetherness, as precious as stolen time.
How I wished to freeze those golden hours,
But the clock’s steady hands pressed against our joy,
And the road called us back to where life waited.
The world sings Your praise
Says You were born in a stable
To where a bright star showed the way
To wanderers of the desert
They sing carols and make new ones
Year after year every Christmas
All that is nice and sweet to hear
But Lord I have another reason
To sing out aloud
The greatness of Yours
I am no Christian by birth
Neither have I lent my ears
To missionaries who preach
And invite the world to their feuding folds
My country had a leader
Whom Your life influenced
And he put what he knew of You into practice
To free us from perilous bondage
Made us truly recognize
How You chimed with our ancient nascence
He is the Father Of Our Nation
None else in the world I think
Had the strong conviction he had
That Your teachings can be PRACTISED
My country therefore owes a lot
To You, Jesus Christ,
And to You we truly belong
Oh, guide us Divine Light
And illumine the world
Let us celebrate Christmas
To usher in an era of peace
In which the whole creation can rejoice
Unbound, without fetters and barriers
In the bosom of true Christ Consciousness
Undifferentiated Oneness
Crimson saris, silk
Woven with threads of gold,
A dancer's graceful sway,
Reflecting ancient lore,
A turban's vibrant hues,
Sun-baked earth, spice-scented air,
Desert whispers tales,
Of caravans afar,
Carvings deep and bold,
In temples, ancient stone,
Echoing centuries old,
Stories yet untold,
From the Himalayas' snow,
To Ganges' holy flow,
A sacred, mystic show,
Diversity unfolds,
Ghats, where souls ascend,
Prayers to deities blend,
The fragrance of incense,
Mystical events unfold,
Bhangra's rhythmic beat,
A joyful, vibrant heat,
Dancing in the street,
Celebrations complete,
From the bustling city's hum,
To villages' quiet drum,
A world within a sum,
India's soul, profound,
Flavour's bold and bright,
A culinary sight,
Spices, herbs, and light,
Taste of day and night,
A thousand faces smiles,
Across landscapes, miles,
One nation, mixed styles,
India's spirit, which beguiles
A symphony of sound,
Stories whispered around,
Diverse and ever-bound,
India's soul is profound.
Some people cross our paths repeatedly in life,
They meet, part, and reconnect.
In this crowd, some people Meet us in such a way
As if it’s a bond from lifetimes past.
How does a stranger Come so close,
Without a sound, And make a home In our lives?
They say it’s a debt From past lives
That everyone Must repay.
No matter how hard we try To run away,
Nature brings us Face to face.
We cannot define Such relationships,
Yet they become An inseparable part of our lives,
Like air is to breath.
What a unique bond This is in life.
You know,
I am a restless woman
from centuries past,
Who does not know
the address of her home.
I am searching
For the address of my home.
The house where I was born,
Had wealth that was not my own.
I worked,
Toiled,
And in all joys and sorrows,
I was a companion,
Yet I remained always an outsider.
In the house where I came
After marriage,
Carrying thousands of dreams,
I was called the girl of the outsider home.
I managed both home and outside,
Yet remained an outsider.
Today I have become old,
Now the owner of the house
Is my son.
Even now, I do not know
The address of my home.
A ship, a journey,
across a vast blue sea.
India calls
it a whispered mystery.
Foreign lands,
new sights unfold,
colonial eyes,
stories yet untold.
East meets West,
clash and blend,
cultures collide,
a world to transcend.
Hidden truths,
uncertainties,
a clash of hearts,
and different realities.
A passage,
not just of place,
but of minds,
in time and space.
Related Poems