Once more, the dawn of 'Independence Day' breaks,
Yet what does freedom mean in a land where fear never sleeps?
In this soil, where a woman's breath is stifled by the shadows of violence,
Where the night trembles with the cries of those too young to speak,
And the silence of the elderly whispers of unspeakable terror,
How do we celebrate freedom, when chains still bind our hearts?
This is no day for joy, no anthem of triumph to be sung,
For this nation is stained with the tears of women,
Their bodies broken, their spirits crushed under the weight of lust.
The blood of our mothers, daughters, and sisters,
Marks the soil of a land that dares to call itself free.
India, hold your celebrations, silence your drums,
For there is no true independence while every woman still fears the night.
Only when the gaze of every man is purged of cruelty,
Only when a woman's heart can beat without dread,
Then, and only then, will we know the meaning of freedom.
Then, and only then, will it be time to celebrate.
YOU ARE READING
Her Songs
PoetryIn the quiet corners of my heart, I've gathered whispers of thought, woven with the threads of dreams. Though I do not claim the title of poet, nor of masterful writer, I've chosen to give wings to my musings, letting them soar free on the winds of...
