When a nation rises,
it does not ask permission.
It rises in the hush before dawn,
in fields where forgotten hands
still sow hope into stubborn earth,
in streets where footsteps become a chorus
no decree can silence.
The powerful mistake fear for loyalty,
and obedience for peace.
They build taller walls,
write harsher laws,
and call every question a threat.
But history keeps another language.
It speaks through rivers
that outlive kingdoms,
through mountains
that have watched empires
arrive with thunder
and depart as dust.
A nation is not the throne.
It is the millions
whose quiet courage
outlasts every crown of arrogance.
Truth does not disappear
because it is censored.
Justice does not surrender
because it is delayed.
Freedom does not die
because it is forbidden to speak.
When a nation rises,
its banners are not woven from hate,
but from memory, dignity,
and the stubborn refusal
to mistake submission for peace.
And when that dawn finally breaks,
it will not belong
to the loudest ruler,
nor to the longest reign.
It will belong
to those who stood unarmed
with conscience in their hands,
who refused to trade their voice
for the comfort of silence,
and who proved, at last,
that no power is greater
than a people who remember
they were always free
***
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at [email protected].
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