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Ashwin Kumar Dec 2023
India is our country
And we are told
It's a great country
However, I beg to differ
Rather, we are sold
The idea of an utopian nation
A country with a myriad variety of cultures
Races, religions and languages
United by a common feeling of brotherhood
However, look beneath the hood
And the idea implodes spectacularly
Crumbling in a heap
Instead, emergeth a divide so deep
That it can be bested not
Even by the mighty Pacific Ocean
Truth be told, we are but a Hindu nation
In all but name
Instead, we put the blame
For all our evils
On the British, one day
And the Mughals, the very next day
While more and more blood spills
In the name of religion and caste
How long will this last?

India is our country
And as per the Constitution
All Indians are our brothers and sisters
However, if you use your imagination
Understand, you will
That this is just a facade
Designed to protect our international image
As you turn page after page
Of our so-called glorious history
Emergeth the true picture
A land comprising thousands of castes
Fighting each other since the beginning of time
Something that would put to shame
Even the fickle-minded Romans
During the reign of Julius Caesar
We Indians are indeed pathetic humans
Falling like nine pins
At the slightest hint of pressure
While boasting about past wins
That no longer matter

India is our country
And a time there was
When, a proud Indian I was
However, passed have light years, since then
Oppressed, have been our women
More so, those who are underprivileged
Brahmins, were the rapists of Bilkis Bano
And hence, did they go unpunished
Meanwhile, ***** by the Indian Army
Are the women of Kashmir and the North Eastern states
For which, not a single mainstream feminist bothers to show even the slightest sign of empathy
Something that truly makes my blood boil
Even as hundreds of wrongdoers get bail
Because, our justice system is an epic fail
On the other hand, you have innocent people
Languishing in jail for ages
Because nobody bothers to turn the pages
Of the Constitution of India

Yes, India is our country indeed
But patriots we are, no longer
Because, ultimately, humanity is stronger
A field where India can never take the lead
Yes, Indians we are
However, humans we are first
A poem exposing the true reality of India as a country.
Talia Jan 2021
To you, their rights
are a minority priority

You're entitled, spoon fed
Gorged with greed
a coralling disease

Dormancy
a fence that protects you,

but a barbed wire noose
                           wrapped
                           round their throats.

You're just another ring
in the chains of oppression
just needed to be said really. saddened by the inaction of humankind.
tried to play around a bit with formatting.
Yachika Sharma Oct 2020
I think nobody understands the pain,
of living with constant fear.
I am tired of seeing women oppressed,
being hit, only bruises to show.
It is not okay to seal her lips then question,
why she took time to come out.
I will lose it if someone says that home
is where I'll be safe, oh I am not.
She is not, She is not, Oh she is not,
she is not, she is not, Oh I am not.
Chad Young Sep 2020
O noble light, o noble lights!
The babe has learned to crawl,
and the virtues which we possess
call continually to the poor and
oppressed among us. I don't know
when this cry may ease, but
the Bugle tells us to buttress the hearts of
these oppressed folk.

We are not to stay still upon our light, rather
we are to make it burn brighter in our hearts.
This is the day to make our character known in the
hearts of the oppressed.
Standing in line at Wal-Mart
Grey Jun 2020
WE CAN’T BREATHE
WHEN YOU COVER OUR MOUTHS.
6/5/2020
Donate. Vote. Raise awareness. Sign petitions. Protest. Educate yourself and others. Email authorities and those who can make concrete change. Use your voice. Advocate for equal rights. Share ways others can help. Let’s end this madness Now.
Coleen Mzarriz Apr 2020
Memoirs can be abandoned,
her empty heart
is what drives her strong
just like what she covers,
in her face.

Ghosts of their shadows
spelled out in her grip
call upon them like a spirit
that desires to be summoned.

She was standing amid the ghost town,
there she was closing her eyes
stomach churning,
when she recognized him.

They were glaring at each other
who will triumph?
It was that vie
of whom should move first, “I still love you”

He spoke with a smirk —
her thoughts are like the battleground
“Should I trust him?”
She called for her shadow,
only the beeping noise
of the cricket's songs
can be drawn in the area.
She grappled to resist the cracks
frightened, it will shower like raindrops.

He threw that stifle laugh
a natural one she couldn't ignore
he attempts to contain
the rushing vessels
that forced them to be one.

They tried to settle in the present
left the Ghost Town
of their oppressed minds
imprisoned
the aged allure
at the back of their heads.

Maybe this way will work,
and they don't have to fight anymore.
Ghost Town of oppressed memories.
Nolan Willett Jun 2019
In ancient unenlightened days,
There came a man whose triumph would’ve laid
Foundations for a better world,
Our inner compassions unfurled.
For we thought we found a holy seer,
To rid our lives of all our fear,
To tell us what to say and what to think
What to do and what to drink.
He did his best,
I can attest,
To warn us of that one,
Who would see all our progress undone.
Indeed, many in our history have been
Told what constitutes sin,
Left with a hurtful scar,
By one who never wandered very far.
And our true messiah saw
This prophet for a gaping maw,
Another of the tempter’s tricks,
A man whose touch could heal the sick.
For he loved God more than most
But found him in the cosmos,
Our divine provenance,
Rooted in collective consciousness,
Not an oath to take or die
Or a being to mollify,
Nor any kind of credo,
But an universal ego.
Heeding logic over gullibility
He recognized the liability,
One who would see them die for naught,
And stray them from the insight they sought.
But in trying to break the cycle
He heralded its arrival,
Enshrining the son,
In the cursed three-in-one.
He made a martyr
And thus followed generational slaughter.
Promising sacred haven,
Causing war and famine.
For deceivers are known to appear as savior,
For them there is no pleasure greater,
In casting down the righteous,
And rendering them mindless.
And so millennia could have been spared
From some cruelty our kind have shared-
So long and so onerous, never ending-
And our pity’s rending.
The earth’s inhabitants coalesced,
No longer their souls oppressed,
Saved from prejudice,
Alas, poor Judas.
Sorry I published this a couple times I had to fix some things and I like it so
Clay Face Mar 2019
Through my own tyrannical enforcement
I spew insipid scripted statements
I do not support nor enjoy.
Afraid to be aberrant
Oppressed I am pushed to lecture repugnant contradictions against my own disposition.
Turgid loathing of the fear of dropping the expected facade
Supported by ego and enforced by group-think to mold a homogenous majority.
I hate self pity.
Here marinating in my own self indulgent sorrow.
I am a hypocrite.
Another one of my enemies.
But weakened by forcing myself to state the opposite of what I value,
I open myself to further self destruction.
Through this introspection I might be able to reclaim my social autonomy.
Possibly at the cost of diminution of social impression.
That is held at such divine standards today.
I might become a social martyr.
But at least I’d die complete and confident in my own voice.
It would open me to ridicule.
But I’d rather understand myself and be subjected to hate than to live objectively in a self confined contrived reality.
Mary Mar 2019
You’re loud and you’re rude
   and you embarrass me
I quietly put up with it

You demean me and you
   hurt my feelings
Yet I quietly put up with it

You raise your fists
   in anger at me
And I withdraw in fear

And pray for the day
   when I will have the strength
to stop being so quiet
Rose Cliff Mar 2019
We are supposed to express whatever lies deep with In this chest
But as soon as it get too much
It’s end is abrupt
And it is hushed
And it is shoved
Back into the recess of depression
Of which it was born
Of which oppression
Will finally adorn
Us who’ve been silenced
Us who mourn
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