Whispers in the Storm

In the heart of a city, where dreams once thrived,

A cold wind blows, where hope barely survived.

A life snuffed out in the dead of night,

Yet those with power fail to ignite.

The flames of justice, dimmed and frail,

As urgency lags, and we all inhale

The stench of a system, stagnant, unkind,

Where the cries of the helpless are left behind.

You, who speak with righteous fire,

Where were you when others faced the pyre?

In Manipur, Bihar, Hathras’ dark stain,

Your voices were silent, your hands in vain.

Now you post, you tweet, you share,

But where is the action, the genuine care?

Lip service given, so easy, so light,

Yet darkness remains, despite all your might.

Politicians circle, like vultures they fly,

Feasting on sorrow, feeding a lie.

A tragedy becomes a stage, a play,

Where the actors wear masks of decay.

They promise change, they promise reform,

But it’s all a part of the ongoing storm,

A game of power, a quest for gain,

Where the victim’s voice is drowned in vain.

And you, the keepers of the digital flame,

Spreading vulgarity in freedom’s name,

Feminism twisted, a shallow disguise,

Where anything goes, under open skies.

You fuel the fire in impressionable minds,

Not knowing, or caring, what it binds.

A woman’s choice, her sacred right,

Becomes fodder for those who lurk in the night.

Now we stand at a precipice, a moment in time,

Where we must rise, where we must climb.

Beyond the tweets, beyond the noise,

To find a world where justice employs

Its swiftest hand, its sharpest blade,

To cut through the lies, the games that are played.

May this be the turning, the shift we seek,

Where the strong protect, and the silent speak.

Let not her death be in vain,

Let it not be lost in the rain

Of empty promises, of shallow cries,

But be the storm that clears the skies.

For in the heart of a city that weeps,

A new dawn rises, where justice never sleeps.