Peddling narratives is their sole right.
They are scared
With your choice to write.
Nevertheless, you ought to try.
Keep sending manuscripts,
let them deny.
Fill pages, burn midnight oil.
Speak, write, reveal
on what makes your blood boil.
Broadcast you views.
Even if they get censored,
they end up making news.
What is wheat to you, are to them weeds.
What is terrorism,
are ‘just’ deeds.
Despite long slavery your faith thrives
They hate you
For your will to survive.
You have numbers, they have airs.
Your truth is vehement,
their lies have flair.
Now even if they burn books,
raze temples.
Records won’t be overlooked.
Their monopoly is set to crumble,
Truth has begun
to break the shackles.
You might be cancelled.
But fear not
for your voice can no longer be muzzled.
If your book does not Bloom,
like a Garud it shall fly.
Harbour no gloom.
