I roar the war cry of a country.
I’m the garland around a cow’s neck,
and the noose around a farmer’s.
I manufacture blindfolds and gods.
Whoever pays enough, you know.
I’m the pair of scissors,
that runs on pants and people
I determine the contents of your kitchen,
The meat on your plate.
I’m the safest and the costliest life
in all of Kashmir,
the leaking colour on the Indian flag.
I’m the new curtain over the fourth estate.
I take occasional strolls over worthy mouths,
My footprint being ’14.
I’m the tolerant tape that fences
beliefs I don’t agree with.
I’m the vacuum in the hollow drum of promises,
I’m the colour of the king’s cape,
who wears garments that bear his name.
I’m the CBSE board topper,
who made chits out of my economics book.
If Pantone were to release a colour for each country
India’s would be me.
Garima Pura, 22, is a freelance writer and filmmaker based in Delhi. You can find her on Instagram by her name.
Featured image credit: Reuters