Ms. Neelam Dadhwal
Dotted lines, double lines, flags, colored regions
lands in drought, trees with barren stumps,
wind hanging through upside down.
My native land is not a dream
though it seems to be
toils of years and sparkling eyes
among breeze and bees
where stones carved from hills
bear my footsteps and gurgling stream
of rain sharp bent for noise,
a guardian angel of happiness and trust.