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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