Its high time that the poetry breaks out of the poetic circle and protest in the middle of the streets. poetry itself is now tired of telling stories of love and separation while the country is separated from its value today. Morality has been replaced by its shallow tricks. Abusing journalism is now the concluding argument of every debate.
Farmers bodies are shrinking just as fast as a builder's growing belly. The one who feeds us is being fed with bullets. The bloodstains from the sores of his feet are a blot on our city's forehead. He will still not stop growing food for us even if he finds his own children hanging by a tree. In amidst our selfishness; there is a conscience, then we will ask question and mourn and stop eating when we read about their suicides.
The one who suffocates and dies in the sewage pipe of free India. The young girl who are victim of the hatred spread in the name of the religion have been reduced to a cheap tool of politics. But it still falls on the deaf ears of the political leaders. And their sycophants sing the tune of 'development' in response to every question so loud that the half of the people left deaf and the rest forgets what the question was! What have we bought upon us?
All around us are crowds directionless, mindless, desperate carrying knives, stones, torches; to cut, break and set fire to houses and suppress the voices that asks questions. Questions that do not let the ministers sleep; that make them to think before they speak. Democracy will have to re-introduce itself. To the people, by the people and for the people.
The time has arrived for poetry to guard the truth. Time has come that poems emerge from the page, leap from the bookshelves of the library and stumble to make their way to the streets to protest. Time is slipping from our hands if we don't ask the right questions today, we will not have the answers tomorrow.
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