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Here’s a tribute for Gauri Lankesh, in verse, by Kabir, in Different Truths.

I am a pen 

Many use me for pleasure 

By writing on domestic islands

Few use me to erupt the island

Making the civilians peek into the outer world 

Del Carnegie wrote for the initiation 

Plato kept thinking of how to write to indulge 

The words into the five percent part of brain

Copernicus wrote and got the gift of beheading 

Galileo wrote without even knowing 

That the showcase won’t make him stay 

Pansare wrote on the deforested population 

Next morning faced the barbaric bullet 

Dabholkar tried to break the sleep of millions 

But the jingling sleep was too deep 

Which didn’t even stop the bullet 

Even when dialogues of intolerance rose

Black ink drove making the speakers feel the shame

Gauri stood against the worst phase 

Against the worst distance in a country clock

The next night the door to her home opened 

It smiled for a brief time, welcoming her 

Pen in her bag impatiently waiting to inscribe

Another written sketch of a modern yet blunt India 

But she never knew that she won’t witness the smile 

She won’t be able to hold the pen again 

When a bullet passed her charming beauty 

When it broke off the sleep of her followers 

And made the dictators sleep in peace

Legends will be they called when they talk over tweets 

But here everything vanished deliberately 

For the smile, today is on their face 

I am in deep worry as I am in that phase 

In that area of the country clock

Where the idea of dissent is dying like a moth 

But I still hope that the pen will refill itself 

To make Gauri live again. 

©Kabir Deb

Photo from the Internet

#Poem #PoemOfProtest #GauriLankesh #MuderOfGauriLankesh #DifferenTruths


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