by Usham Rojio

I’m the jailbird of my body,
the term of sentence is indefinite
Exclamation is the boat of my life
No way to escape, I must howl
To die, to sleep is atone
But my ‘right to life’ is out of tune.
Rightly remarked, I read somewhere,
"The only good Indian is a dead Indian"
Search for such life, we’ll prove fine,
Dreams wrapped with grief and disgruntled
Silently standing under the fall, such is our kind.
Thanks to the black suit lawyers,
whose hearts are full of black markers,
They make laws for Lawmakers;
See, how merciful they are;
They send us a package of declaration,
A package of RIGHT to EDUCATION,
With their gun pointing on our brains.
Nor the beginning, nor the end drains.

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