As the tanks roll down Rajpath,

The women at Shaheen Bagh

Shore up the republic

From the day’s commanders.

There is the usual pageantry,

But for once the ritual pales before

The reality.

 

Imagine guardians of the realm so weak

That they would have the guns,

Not “we the people” speak.

 

Against the warmth of the dignatories

Awestruck by the thundering metal,

And the macho will to settle

Scores with some enemy out there,

There is the more sentient fettle

Of Shaheen Baghs in the republic’s entrails

Wise to perils not elsewhere but here.

 

This day of freedom

Belongs rather more to them

Than to those who make the gesture,

Don the apparel of democracy,

But in shackles find security.

 

Away from the hollow observance,

“we the people” celebrate the day

Upon wintry streets in solidarity

For a republic fearless and free.

Surely, surely, theirs will be the victory.

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