Whisper of a wounded city

In the shadows of the city, where the Ganges flows, A silent cry rises, where justice seldom shows. The night was endless, heavy with despair, Yet the dawn holds a promise that now feels unfair. Where are the voices that often spoke so loud? Now drowned in silence beneath a heavy cloud Where truth bends to wickedness, and justice is a game, The city of hope mourns, its spirit feels the shame. This city has witnessed a blame game on the dead, And how we twisted the truth, leaving good misled. It gets embarrassed at the hypocrisy we so boldly claim, How we hide one crime and give another a name. Oh, city of light, where have custodians of justice hidden? The hearts of the people grow cold and withdrawn. In every corner, a mother’s silent tear, In every heart, a growing, biting fear. Let the streets remember, let the walls resound, With the cries of the voiceless, a truth profound. So rise, oh dawn, with a light pure and clear, Sweep away the shadows that live on fear. For the soul of the city, for the heart of its name, We call upon justice, and justice must claim. As voices rise and echo through the street, The throne plots quietly, securing its feet. But now the streets swell with courage uncontrolled, Bravery etched on the stick and holy water cannon aimed. The city awakens, a storm rising with might, Demanding truth from the throne, demanding what’s right. Let us raise the fear of losing the throne to its height, No more blood on the streets, no more deaths in the night. Let this uprising clean and honor those led astray, Pave the way for a new society, where good spirits stay.