A poet’s privilege

Privilege, privilege all around. Sweet words and even better sound.

Love and war, rape and fear. Are all ideas that men hold dear.

To speak, to try, to bow, to cry.

All are worthy of shame, if not done by a beautiful dame.

Life and strife, girlfriend or wife. Day or night, they should be worthy of sight.

Allowed to care but not to dare.

Dark or light, bow before our might.

To think is blasphemy, to protest a sedition. On top of that you’re not doing the right rendition.

My protest in itself is a privilege. Devil in me staring at that cleavage.

But hope is a good thing, no one can resist its bling.

To dream is better, if not today than later.

From shout, to scream, to do so freely is still a dream.

But witches or muggles. The end is near for all our struggles.

So smile and smile, in your own best style.

The night is darkest, just before the dawn. That’s what I was told by my Mom.

My privilege speaks, maybe foul it reeks. But we were told the world was never for the weaks.

So I want to change such a world. Without violence, without blood.

So the day will come, maybe not today but in years some.

The horizon will be bright, and we’ll all watch that sight.

Happiness can be found, if only you try to look around.

Life is tragic, but words are magic.

They heal you, from left and right. Prove that might is not ever right.

So hug and love and kiss and care. Shout from the rooftops, that “Yes I dare“.

Mayank Manish Pathak

(It’s my own work, explaining, just in case it wasn’t clear XD)