In the dawn of morn, there rose,
Two cries, which broke the morning blues,
The First erupt with a hum of a drum,
The second with the will of an empty stomach,
Both, erupted into the sea of early traffic,
The First was music not to dance,
The second was speech not to fall asleep,
The first started with much ado,
The second, resilient to announce with credo,
The first to idol, the second to the sky line,
Both begin at a time, and end at a rhyme,
Careful to outdo the other, the First sings
with fervour, of Lord, and his immanence,
the second, not challenged, starts like a war cry,
And chants the verses with wails and trumpets,
The first, makes pitch grow, and kills the hum of the birds,
The second, screams the Almighty’s Name,
reaching every, waking man and dame,
The first, undeterred, reaches for his drum,
and begins a noise only to make human run,
The second calls the forgiveness by a microphone,
his sound echoing through sleeping ghosts,
The first praises the lord, and cajoles Him,
the second calls out to the lord, and pleads Him.
Both, devoted to the Maker, but causes
Worry and distress in the world, when they cross,
Both, like in physique, same with two hands,two legs,
both from different faith, different grounds, sing or shout the same,
They have tortured India, this thought to rue,
As their voice ebbs down in the sunlight,
the next day, the same would continue.