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Sow the seeds of communalism,
Spread hate against minority,
Defend the wrong acts of majority,
Abuse the seculars and secularism,
Call liberals — Anti-nationals,
Question the so called opposition,
Praise every move of Government,
Act as a pet of power,
Force the democracy to die
Or ****** it yourself...

And... you're a part of Indian Media!
The truth of mainstream Indian Media... And I think it's the truth of most of the media organization throughout the world...

Press and media houses are called as the fourth pillar of democracy... But if they'll act like this... Then, how democracy will sustain?
KyleB Apr 11
Sometimes I am naked
and look at myself.
My tan skin looks less brown than it looks grey
like ashes;
Perhaps it's grey like the burned cultures,
the damages traditions
and bombarded destinies.

When I put my dark hand
onto someone's fair skin
I see the ashes
and I'm reminded of histories we'll never get to cherish.
KyleB Apr 11
I hear it
Again and again
I do not “function“
Like the rest

Every day
Is a battle
Will I hurt?
Will I move?
Nonetheless, I have to function

Even when I can‘t

I eat pills
For breakfast
Like greed personified
I swallow them - I do not chew.

I eat pills like candy but how can I help it?

My body is aching
My muscles are trembling
Is this addiction
Or is this dependence

How am I different
From someone who cant
Live without drugs
Because it causes them pain
When I eat my candies
To dull my agony

I eat pills like candy
I must be a sweet tooth
Yet I don‘t enjoy it
But others believe that I have to
Talia Jan 27
Grass, truly greener
when one side's left to rot

But, then again  
that is exactly what you profit off
A world where it is easier for the white, straight, wealthy males to thrive. Where is the equality? Change needs to also come from them. Why don't more those who are privileged use this to their advantage?
manlin Aug 2020
Despite suffering from illness,
****** assault from a once trusted individual,
being told I do not belong in my own country,
and shoved away by supposed peers and professor at my institution,

I remain.
As steadfast as ever,
protecting my place, country, and

No matter how exhausted
or how shattered my current frame of reality may be,
I never cheat on my schoolwork or exams
like the same peers who belittle me.

Me, who is there:
patiently waiting,
always the last,
seeking help after another misstep;

diligently remaining on track,
amidst the others descended from the Esteemed,
Who continue the cyclic tradition of oppression.

While I acknowledge that
the absence of refuge
for the trodden
has existed for many centuries,

and even myself as of now,
I understand it to be ill-gotten privilege
I may have stolen
from another applicant more promising than me;

I remain in
This Place
amongst books
and the International Royalty.

Beginning from
such atrocities
in both blood, home, and later within the educational institution,
I never had any interest in making a name for myself.

I did not apply to college because I was told to—
it is because I was predominantly told the opposite.
Facing the shouting and dismissals
from those closest in blood and esteemed teachers at school.

In this time of a loosening socioeconomic hierarchy,
finally exposing the Freedoms of this Nation
Our Ancestors could never dream of,
We Must Remain, Learn, and Fight!

Revel in how
Unfulfilled we are,
Remain Loyal to your well-established Ideals,
and Fight!
Keyan R Jan 2019
Black dirt lays on my hands
The soil that lays there is where I advance
It smells, its manure
I’m the farmer, the one, the grower
I pick a plot
Think of thoughts
Things go by in and out of my mind
I’m stuck to choose where to plant the roots of time
My time cannot be wasted
Like the soil, the dirt, I taste it
I can taste it in my feet
The ground I stand on
Perhaps I’m the plant that my life has cared for
To water, to bring sunlight, that constant care
To talk, to be there, my life to cheer on

I’m but one farmer in this world of carefree
To be or not to be, I cannot please all, so do I become the enemy?
The land of the free, from which I stand all
Planted my roots, and that I’ve prayed on
I was born here, a seed like others that were planted
I grow out of the help of others, I shouldn’t take the help for granted
Though like others I may fall on the granite…pavement, blacktop, and sidewalk
I make my own way;
Things I may say,
The things I may do

I’m not a bad person
You can tell by the view
Well maybe if you trust me
I’m no stranger than you
Overall no matter by my color
A flower is a flower
At least smell it first
Judge after…
No, why judge at all
Get to know instead of pushing away
That’s really all I’ve got to say
Being a minority in America ***** even if you were born in the States. Completion of the face doesn't always have to match the personality. Customs of that p[rejudice society needs to open their eyes to the truth and acknowledge the change in inequality. But alas that only goes so far, when others who have that strong influence must make the first step in reaching out their own hand. hmm
Adrian Nov 2018
If my voice were loud enough
I’d climb the tallest mountain
And shout from the top
If my voice were loud enough
I’d tell everyone what I need them to hear
If my voice were loud enough
I’d scream through cities and suburbs
A ghostly voice echoing through buildings
And subway tunnels
If my voice were loud enough
You’d never stop hearing me
Because if I could be heard
I would be heard
But my voice isn’t loud enough
Because I’m 14
Because I’m Hispanic
Because I’m queer
Because I’m a girl
Because I’m just one girl
But if we all use our voices
A million different voices
Clamoring to be heard
We just might be loud enough
Isaac Wilfahrt Oct 2018
Names, titles, a useless scar
Sending us back as we've come so far
Names, titles, and pretty words
Burn the skin and split hearts into thirds
And you still think it's all for fun

Gazes, looks, an unnatural feeling
As though, with your eyes, skin is peeling
Gazes, looks, and repetitive lies
To only one skin in this town has ties
Let's see you stand as one

Worries, hate, a recurring joke
A bigger fire in heart this'll stoke
Worries, hate filled with apathy
All of them so care free, but too blind to see
Because you are at no place to shun

Fair, just, a distanced claim
Look behind eyes, and tell me the same
Fair, just, something we know
But when it comes we refuse to show
When you have only walked the shoes of one

Words, phrases, wasted air
To something so wonderful, only to tear
Words, phrases, a shot in the dark
To something so close it'll leave a mark
So take your walk back then o majority son
And I'll sit here, majority one
AvaGrace Aug 2018
i respect your right to live
and to prosper in peace
and i encourage you to grow
with all the space that you need
but is it really necessary
to tear up my roots
im just trying to be
without being moved
i wont drink of your water
or eat of your plate
ill do my fair share
to be a decent roommate
this garden we share
has plenty of room for a few
i don't think its fair
to be picked on by you
so i may not be pedigree
im not flawless its true
but in the end of the summer
you'll see that i bloom
so you may not like me
i may not be ideal
but if you spend a day beside me

you may consider appeal
i wonder how weeds feel in comparison to 'flowers'
Elliott Feb 2018
The subtle cross between intersections, a life of blurriness, through crossed t’s and neatly dotted i’s I removed from the phrase Poetic Form, (trying to spell it without crossing myself back into it).
From lesbianism to manhood,
to cross what being a man means,

I wonder if my own identity is written in pen and everyone wants it typed and edited,
Yet I’ve taken the plastic keys off my computer board and made them into magnets last week,
Setting myself up with stolen magnets stolen blocks,
Putting them in order on my own fridge,
Scrambling them back because there is no order,
They only told you there was so that way you’d sing a song,
But I know now that I can write words, there’s no need for a pre-prescribed song when I’ve written my own,

In my own words.
When I look back and have pages of songs nobody else asked for or decided to write,
When I’m in class and I pocket my songs into stories and my stories under my low grades,
Under my teachers’ requests for MLA format,
I think of that caterpillar I played with in my room when I was six,
And how i thought about how people only wrote about butterflies
And how the caterpillars felt about that,
So when I asked my mother to ask her friend, an author,
If she’d write me into a novel,
Would she ignore me because I was a caterpillar,
Only choosing to open her mouth and write when my story became beautiful and socially acceptable,
When it grew out from the pubescent disliking of itself and stained the sinks of society,
Out of a hot *** of queer and quarantine,
Till the broth of the fluidity of my own being was was down the rabbit hole
Till all that was left was whitewashed spaghetti?

If these songs were anything I could write down again and again,
In pen, ignoring the requests to write neater,
To type faster,
If I put all my work into an envelope I already broke,
Shove it into a mailbox decorated with things people disagree with,
My pages bleeding ink few people can touch without being soaked,
When they ask me what to file me under
I don’t say “minority fiction” anymore

I say file me under “road signs”
At the intersections.
File me under that caterpillar,
In the wheat field,
Next to hydrangeas on the dinner table
A Sunflower in the spring
The harvested Brown Rice,
So when you make me into a meal I didn’t ask for,
I can be at least eaten by the vegans.
I met this girl and wanted to speak to her so here you guy go
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