By Jayasree M R
Once, my voice was velvet flame,
A warmth that danced through open skies.
No judge, no chain, no venom name—
Only truth beneath kind eyes.
I sang in ease, in joy, in pain,
My verses fell like summer rain.
But now they twist what once was clear,
And clothe my thoughts in doubt and fear.
The realm is changed—its gaze is sharp,
A lynx that stalks with stealth and spite.
I speak, and daggers pierce the dark,
Their claws disguised in robes of white.
They claim I’m rot beneath the rose,
A whisper bent on breaking peace.
Yet silence weighs like winter’s ghost,
And I am prey that finds no release.
They drain the marrow from my soul,
A hushed extinction, slow and deep.
Still, in the shadow, I remain whole—
A flame they tried, but could not keep.
So let them cage, distort, despise,
I rise beneath the watching skies.
For even wings scorched black with hate
Can one day lift and liberate.