The Chillai Kalan

Behind the ice capped mount
Thy army is on rampage
And our own taps copy thy disloyalty
But, if Ye are tyrant
We have Kangri
Ah! Not to talk of Bijli.

Our rubber sacs yell,
so does our own rivers
when on the steel lines
poor electrons protest
despite making our billcases
thin. And we burn our will
till morning to beat the chill.

When the tears at the edges
icicles turn, we burn
a dead tree of yore, and take
a few cups of Rajma from store to celebrate a family
candle light dinner.
©mushtaquebarq