Namaste America!

You are far, yet conversant,

You are not family, yet co-resident.

Why do you live in my home?

Why do I follow your proem?


As you lead, I take conceit,

when you need light, I’d love to be your guide,

if you are stray, I’ll hold you on your way,

cross this bay, come on in and stay.


I grew up an Indian influenced,

under an impression of confluence;

Parents laughed with an expression,

Maybe he knows more, a soft confession.


The temptation to sing your songs,

wear that Jeans and eat that Cheese.

Growing up, everything was American;

Burger, Pizza, MJ to Johnson & Johnson.


“Will you be in NYC one day”, shouted a poster,

which was a great booster?

And whenever I thought, let’s crossover

my warm home beamed, it’s not yet over.


In my little home,

now I think seldom;

ignoring consumerism in hindsight,

I look at meaningful life upright.


Still, want to watch Tracy live,

and get that World Cup high.

Got aware, frankly now not so rare,

not so rare, as we care.


As it tickled inside, a fight and there was this light.

I wanted to explore my India’s bright.

Ignoring night, I moved with full might,

scientific and mystical, Oh! Delight.


I thought I would grow,

and, soon I would be known as a pro.

Spread a word for people to know,

I stumbled upon the wise bro, spreading ancient glow.


Asian, African and American,

living together as World-Citizen.

This story, written in the room,

spreading glory, clearing gloom.


Each home is as significant;

a temple or a tent.

Each home a living country,

that’s your victory.


Every home builds your culture;

you think it’s just a structure!

Just walk and seek, like a monk,

you will find a country avoiding that honk.


There is this cult in each dome,

Those who live – love it as home.


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