In the shadow of classes

5/4/2024, Vaishali, Bihar In a society where I live, Pride is a class identity, And pain is a class identity again. The color of people is cast Into white, brown, and black, All shades of the same soil. People born as kings, servants, or watchdogs. I live in a village of divided lands— Bhumihar fields, Mallah shores, Nunia, Teli, Sonar, Brahman, Rajput, split like crops on the farm. I belong to the Nai— A class of servants, kings, and watchdogs, all in one. The air hums with stories of the Nanda Dynasty, Pride wrapped around our class like armor. Yet, sorrow lingers in the gaze of those Whose eyes are heavy with dirtied dreams. I live in a society where identity is seen In color, cloth, and words— Old roots buried deep like the broken tree By Abhishek Pushkarini, Which falls, like us, at the feet of the upper class. My tearful words often seem lost, As each passing day etches more pain into hearts. But these small hands carry the strength to resist The cruel stares of a classed society. In a society where I live, Pride is a class identity.