At this time, I am looking for a word
And that is when I have found them
When they come in as blood- cousins
Twice removed, I mean, not literally.
They turn sad all the time, all the time;
Their sadness is for unknown people.
At times they assume grinning faces.
They turn sad as they come to a close.
Actually they are not that important,
Meaning those the words are sad for.
It is the language that is sad in its words,
The sad language we had made our own
Coming from far, in sounds of bagpipes
The bagpipes are sad, celebrating defeat.
But their windy sounds are fine music. (About Indian writing in English)