MY COUNTRY

 Tongues practicing Queens English to silence the screams of minority migratory birds voted to build statues of ancestors with fair skins  

The king stripped a girl named democracy,

who was the daughter of a beggar, her flat chest talked of children waiting to be fed.

Little deities who hate each other told their followers to kill each other and not to forget to chant their names. 

Men wearing white silk kurtas took their turns to rape a five year old named justice who was standing in a garden.

There are houses that turned into ashes, thanks to magic tricks we never knew before.

Plastic smiles gifted famished children red coloured lollipops and took photos to post.

Assemblies erase the blood of an old sparrow who chirped for Ahimsa because it's song is outdated.

Spring in Sreenagar smells of hushed cries of mothers who lost their hazel eyed children.

Dusky skins try hard to gate keeper the memories of 1945 without bias, but fail miserably. 

Leaders lie to the worms, wicked promises once in every five years.

There are bodies pressing against yours in the morning train casually, after giving your female body a fifty synonyms.

Prayers are lonely islands where no one resides except those who mastubrate and weave their devotion with the same hands.

A revolution sit in the tongue of us afraid of bullets and amended laws. 

This is where I live, my country 

This is the place I call home.

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