I India

Once I was trapped just as a pet, 
And let them do what they set. 
Some people call me dirtiest place, 
They do not know about the race. 
Race of development, race of grace, 
Race of making a perfect face. 
I got freedom years before, 
Yet not properly - the truth is sour. 
A day I will reach so high, 
And thus I will keep to try.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2025

Poem

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace