The Truth

Photo by Daniil Kuželev on Unsplash

I go walking without a fight,

with you into the dead of the night.

For questioning, into custody,

over sedition, for conspiracy,

under UAPA, despite democracy.

I am just a person you call swine—

a benign human you can fine;

torture, imprison, kill or malign,

but the Truth you fear is not mine.

It’s a pandemic in young minds

as rabid televisions spellbind

and panting parents recline.

Economy dives underwater

but there’s no fish to find.

Oh! a neighbour is unkind

so we respond in kind.

In small WhatsApp circles Truth grows,

it takes a village, we all know.

She weaves a couple of twitter threads,

through fleeting Instastories she spreads.

She will maintain data, for herself to know, 

donate to the needy to soften the deathblow; 

and thus will Truth grow

into a conscientious young fellow.

You won’t find her serving alliances,

in a political party or with the media foxes.

She will walk for days to get home from a city,

live in detention centres, question the government’s duplicity.

She will hang from trees, raped

Or die with crops, aped.

As you waste my life away in a cell,

I want you to remember this spell.

the Truth you fear is not mine,

She’s in everyone with a spine.

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