My Country, My home

Misty mountains and bone-chilled roads
Tropical beaches and salty seas
A mere hours ride apart
Makes up this place called home to me

On one hand an ancient building
That survived the ravages of war
On the other stands another temple
Like a beacon of hope for peace for all

To the north, ragged lands that no more thrives
Only palm trees riddled in bullet holes survives
Grand homes lie vacant covered in shrubbery
Even ghosts refuse to haunt, too many memories

To the east, the sun smiles down on
White sandy beaches that stretch endlessly
A man may walk in peace, among dunes
Decorated by the shells of the Indian sea

To the south, spreads shades of color
Emerald paddy fields and blue lakes meet
Where chanting monks in golden robes
Walk feet uncovered in the heat

To the west, stand towers tall
Endless traffic, mechanical voices roar
Life moves faster, growing harder
People running back and forth

Cultures here are vibrant
In color and in speech
Food is made of spices
Desserts from honey trees

I turn down one road, a church I see
Down another a mosque stands free
Another turn confronts a Kovil you see
One more turn, a temple with a bo tree

Now I stand in the middle and breathe
The scents of spices and salty seas
Carried ironically on mountain breeze
For this is my country, my home you see

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