trembling hands praying
hoping for rains
on parched lands as dry as their tears
not a drop of water in years
how do we expect solution of fears?
from hearts that have not seen happiness,
that do not recognise the feeling of strength
strength is a privilege; a rich boy’s flex
that sips on his pina coladas, parties & relaxes
covering his weaknesses & lack of spine with gold chain & rolexes
the labourer does not need steroids for those abs
his hands are made of rock; from the soil that he grabs
his revenge will be swift, and the hierarchy will change
the day he decides to break those chains
chains of the “system”, the color and caste
when awakened for revolt, for his last chance.
no were to run; no wear to hide
he comeths from the jungle, wearing the lion’s hide
Himanshu Chakravarty Sharma / मंच 