Dig a grave,
Sit on the sides,
Reminisce the lost freedoms,
Keep a pack of cards,
Just in case.
Await.
They will come.
Because you had an opinion.
An opinion that wasn’t theirs.
Dig deep into the past,
If you need to.
To where it all started.
Us becoming us and them,
Cries from forests ignored,
Death of media yet to mourn,
Corporates stifling the environment,
Judiciary leaving for the moon,
Bills making back door entries,
Amendments with motives,
Lynchings normalised,
Opinions gunned,
Sedition being law,
And much more.
Where exactly did it start?
So much has changed.
They couldn’t do it,
Not in a day.
But they did mange to,
Moving things inch by inch,
So you hardly notice.
To get you here,
With your loved ones,
By the grave.
It won’t be long.
The noise of a mob,
Your ears pick from afar.
They hunt in packs,
Always do,
Alone, they don’t exist.
The noise is first,
The flaring lights next.
That should awaken your fear,
Or so, they expect.
They will come within reach,
A million faces, yet so faceless.
They will spare you
From being the first.
Your loved ones will be sent,
On a one way trip,
The fear in you wide awake now,
Or so, they expect.
They will leave you
With a choice,
Walk back with them,
Or meet up with your loved ones.
A choice that is yours to be made,
By the grave.
Ajith Raman is a marine engineer from Kerala.
Featured image credit: Cuma Umaç/Unsplash