My name, Bilqis Yaqub Rasul,
A single error, my soul accrues.
While they sought their Ram's embrace,
I, on the road, found my resting place.
The first one asked, I knew not a thing,
The second, the same answer did I bring.
Now, so many have asked, my question unfurls,
Where were those, who the pride of India are?
Where were those?
My name, Satyendra Dubey, a man of truth,
Spoke what had to be spoken, from my youth.
Now I lie still, on life's weary track,
A bullet lodged, a darkness I lack.
My only fault, to write what was true,
A truth that poisoned the air, the hue.
But here, the truths, they turn into lies,
Where were those, who the pride of India are?
Where were those?
I am Yana Manjunath, in a river's flow,
I saw a soul, wandering to and fro.
A conscience lost, on a highway's blight,
Ideals sold, in the slogans of night.
Thieves fill courts, with their hollow sound,
The death of Akhlaq, barely found.
Where are those, who the pride of India are?
Where are those?
My name, Navleen Kumar, a silent tear,
Nineteen June, nineteen years.
Nineteen nineteen, nineteen nineteen,
Nineteen times, a life unseen.
Nineteen nineteen, nineteen nineteen,
Nineteen nineteen, nineteen nineteen.
Nineteen nineteen, nineteen nineteen, nineteen times.
Rob the villages, open the market's greed,
Take our land, send us to the deep seed.
Where are those, who the pride of India are?
Where are those?
Where are those?
Where are those?
Where are those?
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