unheard voices

Among high raised buildings I stood, The crowd exchanging views on corruption Wearing the black dress that I perfectly fit in Toasting red wine for the nation, I suddenly feel ill placed, My mind hovering over other places, Not the perfect place to let my heart free, I miss the innocence and that banyan tree, red carpet walkers laughing on whats right and wrong, The orchestra did not seem to be playing my fav song. That little kid who begged me for her tummy, must not have seen this day, Being a victim of corrupt practices, She probably has a lot to say, Her voice may tremble, But she can state with facts Of all that we presume She has been through the cracks. My mind wants to be with her probably, Giving her confidence to move her tongue, Insouciantly dressed, My hair not made in the perfect bun. Silently would want to bring her up here, Then discuss views on corruption, Hearing those trembled voices, I would then like to...

Colors are bright red, blue and green She paved her way up through thick and thin, wearing her elegant  mekhela chadar  she introduces herself, she noticed the crowd giving her a wry grin, she places her  junbiri  right, fixing her  khupa  with a pin wondering what she said,where she went wrong Was it the name of the place that she belonged?   Being reviewed with skeptical eyes, Accepting humiliating cries, For daring to speak, she paid the price, Defending her culture she spoke once,twice,thrice.. Are Assamese outside Assam to bow their heads down? For all the wrong reasons we have the crown   Remembering sounds of raindrops on Assamtype roofs, Marching of Assam rifle troops, Roads lined with sewali  phul , Brahmaputra silently flowing through its heart, the place where she went to school You and I are no fool, The media is making its cream brulee, There has to be more to a culture she is...