The air that touches, always has a message to claim.
The people I left, are still doing the same.
I miss my home, I wanna visit again.
The hand of my mother, shivers in pain.
The help of my friends, a promise forever maintain.
A stranger on the other side of the road, still smiles without knowing your name.
I do miss my home, I wanna visit again.
The smell of my soil, my land is not plain.
The taste of my food, a craving food-lane.
The picture of my country, a growing frame.
I actually miss my home, I wanna visit again.
The Auto-rickshaw, and the local train.
The multi-culture shared, a honorable gain.
The innocence of my people, a very big pain.
I madly miss my country, I wanna visit again.
