Photo credit: Ajmal Cholakkal
By Divya Manocha
The voice is an instrument-
An instrument of change-
Instrumental to change.
A balloon, inflated with opinion
now deflated by societal dominion.
No longer free to express
neither to the people, nor to the press.
Only free to watch mankind regress.
There’s been a drought on my tongue
for not a word has been said or sung.
Sweat saliva needs to flood
to satiate the rage in my blood
for a sound that will sound the alarms of society
an alarm to wake from impropriety.
My true colours expressed by speech
now begin to bleach.
Rust is now the only colour-
the colour of my voice box.
That which produced words of steel
has fallen prey to the clocks.
It’s a loudspeaker put to mute
Virtually of no use
Truth has blown a fuse
Now fake news is no new news
there are too few of the true views.
In a society where walls crumble
if only I could spare a mumble: