This is a very important day
A grand and glorious day
The day on which we became a Republic
Thanks to the guiding light
Of Babasaheb Dr. B.R.Ambedkar
The Architect of the Constitution
And the True Father of the Nation
If it were not for the great leader's efforts
In creating such a precious document
Many of us would have been denied
Our basic rights and freedoms
There would have been no equality
Many of us would have been languishing
In the gloomy confines of Tihar Jail
In fact, many of us
Wouldn't even have had the chance to live!

This is a very important day
A grand and glorious day
Or, is it really?
Today is the day
On which we take the pledge
To follow and protect the Constitution
But do we really follow it?
Is there really equality everywhere?
Is everyone getting their basic rights?
Are we really a free country?
Is our human rights record
Really something to be proud of?

This is a very important day
A grand and glorious day
Or, is it really?
If Dr. Ambedkar were alive today
He would have been speechless
With sheer shock and outrage
At the way in which
Our Constitution is being misused
Whether it be innocents languishing in jail
Or the atrocities inflicted by the trigger-happy police
Or arbitrary bills being passed
To benefit the rich and the powerful
Or people being denied a chance to love
Because they belong to different religions
Or an entire state being trapped and besieged
And cut off from any kind of communication whatsoever
And of course, casteism in a myriad variety of forms
At each and every level, whether overt or subtle
The list goes on and on
With no end in sight

This is a very important day
A grand and glorious day
Or rather, supposed to be
In reality, a very sad day
We are cowards at heart
We wear our patriotism on our sleeves
We scream from the rooftops
India! India! India!
But we never question injustice
The sheer injustice perpetrated on a daily basis
On many of our brethren
Especially the marginalised communities
They are also equally patriotic
But we deny them the chance
To even share the stage with us
Till we, the privileged majority
Acknowledge our complicity
In all the injustice and inequality
And start making amends
In action, not mere words
There is no point in celebrating Republic Day

We hexed the moon
We burned downtown
We killed Carlos
We started a plague
We started riots
We almost started a 3rd war
We protested and got shot
We killed our year
We said it would be better
We lied and broke it
We tried and failed it
And now I'm sick of resentment
But we can improve it

thinking about how cops are beating protestors senseless not even 20 minutes from where i live.
thinking about how they block off the streets and stand unmasked, batons in hand, other hand resting pointedly on their gun.
thinking about how it could be me next— another unspecified black face and black body and black existence snuffed out— a hashtag, a mural.
          (and those are the lucky ones.)
thinking about how a memorial is the best case scenario for a black life.
thinking about the bodies in the street.
thinking about blood splattering the ground, mixing with paint and obscuring the “black lives matter” lettering on the road.
thinking about the chalk art and loud music in a neighborhood soon-to-be-gentrified.
thinking about how we’ve grown used to the stench of rotting flesh outside our doors.
thinking about the taste of blood in my mouth from my nearly-severed tongue i didn’t realize i was biting.
thinking about the tension in my neck and jaw.
thinking about the way my eyes never seem to close.
thinking about the eyes that will never again open.
thinking thinking thinking.

i find it incredible
that you can look me dead in the eye
ignoring my dead comrade
and talk about the justice in this country
when the judge, jury, and executioner of the blacks
sits in the executive branch, alone
brandishing their badge
retrofitted to read "officer"
rather than "slave catcher"
and truth is framed as false
against their flimsy fabrications of innocence
that amazes me

i find it incredible
that you can be surprised by those boys in blue
beating our black skin blacker 'n' blue
'till red runs down our cheeks like tears from our eyes
so used to witnessing this onslaught of slaughter
that we can't cry tears half the time
that amazes me

i find it incredible
that you can honestly ask me
"how could this happen?"
as i fail to find footing
on this razor thin line
between being blinded by tears
trembling with grief, anger, and fear
and being so numb i can't speak
feeling like a monster for a lack of reaction
to the atrocities i have to witness
i've found a happy-less medium
and must be content to remain numb with rage
that amazes me

i find it incredible
that you can graciously remind me not to forget white and blue
while i scream into the void that i matter, too
unless, of course, i happen to be brandishing a hairbrush
or somehow disrupt your white life
then you quickly affix an asterisk to the word "all"
that amazes me

i find it incredible
that you can proudly proclaim your allyship
and in the same breath explain how
that black was a criminal
but i'm one of the "good ones"
because i'm not ghetto
and conditioned code switches into my DNA
so i'm not a threat unless i ask you to reel it in
and just possibly stop saying "******"
it triggers panic and makes me sick
when it falls from your pale lips
yet i stomach it and swallow my anxiety
sitting with a twisting gut in your presence
that amazes me

i find it incredible
that you seem to have this superpower
pulling you from awareness into blissful oblivion
that i can only imagine
because your life's not on the line
that amazes me

From off the pores of pitch-black skin,
Floyd's soul saps aways,
Little by Little,
One last time
One last effort
One last fruitless plea
In tinny scraps of air
Pushed up from greying lumens
Sourly yields a quashed neck coldening ,
The sore man sighs the last of life,
The man with the loathed shade met his end

“From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.”
–William Shakespeare (Prologue to Romeo and Juliet)

I was hewn from the helpless limbs of a tree
Which could have grown
To become something magnificent

Through sanding and carving
Through varnishing and the work of human hands
I was formed

In a way, the tree which was mutilated to give me life
Was a foreshadowing of my truncheon fate

I swing through the air once again
A weapon in the hands of a vehement oppressor

Skin splits
Blood sprays
Bone shatters

Bodies litter the dust
Staining the earth with crimson testament
To the cruelty I have wrought
Some of the figures are marred
Reminiscent of the tree from which I was hewn
Which died to give me life

The dark throng of protestors
Are but mortals
Faced by the immortal power
Of those lighter beings
Who wield me, mercilessly

I wish to weep
For the destruction, pain
Anguish I leave in my wake

I wish I was still a living bough
Capable of shedding resin tears
Capable of yielding to greater forces
Not to force the vulnerable to break

But I cannot weep
I cannot yield

I am a baton
A weapon in the hands of those who swore to protect
Yet scythe down those who rise to protect what is rightfully theirs

Ancient grudge of black and white
Break to new mutiny of segregation
Where civil blood of those who seek protection
Makes civil hands who swore to guard them
Unclean.

I can’t breathe
On these choking
White streets of
The United
States
of
R
a
c
i
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m