Does it matter what I think
When you think the same as me

Does it matter what I say
When you can speak the same as me

Why not join and shout it loud
for all the world to hear

Is that what makes us different
I shout what you can’t scream

Keeping the promise we never made,
Sitting behind this wall of regrets.
The day dot not last!

But now that I've grown,
I've realized.
The dome protected me from harsh winds,
For the crude winds bring death to the candle.

But now that I've grown,
I've realized.
I'm getting weary of this dome,
Suffocating me to death and yet not,
Why chain my wings?
Why not clip it;cage the wind too.

But now that I've grown,
I've realized.
Being caged for almost 18 years
Since for a very long time, my wings chained,
I can't fly the highest nor the longest,
Neither can be the fastest nor the best.
But should it be for the best not to taste freedom?
Inside this dome, the day dot not last.

But now that I've grown,
I've realized.
The dark night that i so detest for its eerie,
Becomes the one who validate me.
It's silence, embracing me in her chilled breast.
In solitude
Giving me a bereft yet a tranquil feeling.
Perhaps this is the only freedom I get.

None of the protests

in the big cities are heard --


in the countryside.

Empty pocket and empty plates;
safely locked it away still it dissipates,
a climber of corpses climbs high to something great,
and the rest of us are buried standing within this fate.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
it seems to lose a lot of magic when you lose alot of money.
Life’s a ***** but isn’t she powerful?
It’s time to eat the rich because we weren’t born full.

The people’s scale is forever weighing
basic human rights against complete anarchy.
The right choice seems obvious to me, obviously,
but the indecision’s crazy with the lack of priorities.
A climber of corpses climbs high to heights we’ll never see,
I’d rather be a stone than those doing the stoning.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
I think that I’ve had it with their vinegar disguised as honey.
I won’t make another stitch in their golden wool,
it’s time to eat the rich ‘cause we weren’t born full.

A bullet in the street shot from behind;
validated and woke up millions.
No retreat and not changing their minds;
vilified for targeting their billions.

If they really cared they’d ask if you could buy morality,
though typically they’d see if they could find it on sale.
The funniest part is that they could acquire it for free
but it’d be just like giving an atheist the Holy Grail.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
it seems to lose a lot of magic when you lose alot of money.
Life’s a ***** but isn’t she powerful?
It’s time to eat the rich because we weren’t born full.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
more bills; they stack it and the weather stays sunny.
Rock bottom in a ditch, dazed and in a lull
now it’s time eat the rich ‘cause we weren’t born full.

As my body steeps,
Bones infuse,
Organs dissolve;
All I can do is hope
That I’ll add something
To this cocktail of greed.

Once again its protest time
As the crowds organise
Different ideologies one cause
And the movement galvanise

Some woken from slumber
Some just woke to times
Of these heinous repeat crimes
While to most its irrelevant buzz
Until its their time
For the fire blazes on indiscriminate lines

As the candles lit up—placards rise
"Justice for victim", echoes
In phrases and catchy lines
Can they really make impact
Would be a test of time

For what's constant-
Justice delayed and justice denied


© 2024 Ashutosh Joshi

What is it about a national flag
draped over shoulders,
tied at the neck
or wrapped like a toga
that makes me cross the road?
Why do I suspect it covers anger?
Why do I hear a shout of challenge,
rather than a song of honour?
Was it too many urban marches?
Flying London bricks?
And cracked skulls?
Let's put flags beyond reach
on flag poles,
and preferably not at half mast.

The pamphlets are blank,

that is their message, surely --


it's commonly known.

Considers protest at disrespect,
To be the sigil
Of a *****.
In reality
He who chokes down ****
And smiles through it,
Is in actuality.
But what is it,
To remit?