The Dustbin of History: A Requiem for Western Media

Once, they claimed to hold the torch, To light the world with truth and reason. But the West’s media empire— Was born not in truth, But in treason. From BBC’s royal scripts, To CNN’s manicured myths, From Fox’s fury-laced fables, To NBC’s polished distortions— They were trained, not to inform, But to perform For the empire's applause. Every lens tilted, Every headline coded, Every silence calculated— To shape the world In a mirror that flatters the North And shames the South. Africa—your beauty drowned in dust, Your children shown in flies and famine. No word of your wisdom, your gold, Your thinkers, your songs, Your revolutions and sacred soil. Only "chaos," "war," and "tribe" Like shadows on a cave wall. Asia—painted with dragon breath and fear, Latin America—forever "corrupt," Middle East—where "terror" walks with every name, And yet no mirror turned To NATO's blood-soaked hands, To sanctions that starve, To drone strikes in dawn’s silence. The Global South has turned the dial. We do not listen, Not because we cannot hear— But because we now know. We are not fooled By the Oxford accent of a liar. We are not convinced By statistics that reek of empire. We see your scripts, Your cutting rooms, Your photos cropped like colonial maps. Truth is rising in Timbuktu, In Caracas, in Kerala, In Harare, and Hanoi. And you, Western media, Are being archived— Filed away in the dustbin of history Where all fallen empires rot. The world is watching, But not through your eyes anymore.