When everything is done, and December is dusted.
When the protests go weak, and the voices silenced.
When the dented veneers of a power-hungry capital,
has painted itself with more hues of red.
When the lustful lot have lived their lives,
and will soon lay lifeless in a lawman’s lair.
When the lawyers make and break those codes,
of ethics, morals and bureaucratic delays.
For the 23 years of dreams and smiles,
that were crushed beneath an iron rod,
We are angry, but we will still pause to shed,
a single tear for a fallen dewdrop.
(The Delhi rape victim passed away today morning in Mt. Elizabeth hospital in Singapore. I didn’t know how else to take out my angst, but to pen this for her)