Voice. That is what is lost.
Drowned in the sea of hate.
Lying in the bottomless pit of vitriol blue with creativity.
Unheard in the loudness of a spineless media.
Engulfed in flames that burns both ways.
At the mercy of a loud, cowardly, bearded monster
Who has a history of destroying the holy book of our society’s fabric for his gains.
Ripples of tide flood over wails of mothers howling for their lost sons.
Dead by the hands of inflammatory casteism and communalism; not always guns.
Hatred; a thing apart and different between an oppressor and oppressed.
One is asking for his place to live; the other is asking for his head.
A generation lost; ideas lost; time lost.
Never to return.
Take those angry, rotten and damaged brains;
Give them enlightenment instead of sticks and guns.
Books instead of hunger;
Empathy instead of whataboutery;
Love instead of hate.
A man in a white t shirt lends a hand.
Full of real emotions; a contrast from the monster that pretends
To fill this long gap of the never ending, dreadful night;
With a new beginning; with a new light.
Himanshu Chakravarty Sharma / मंच 