Divyanshu Mangariya Poems

I did not choose this name, yet it chose me,
etched deep before I could even speak.
Dalit—broken, scattered, meant to serve,
not to stand, not to dream, not to belong.
...

Welcome, dear viewers, to the grand parade,
Where truth is bent, and facts are played.
The anchors roar, the screens turn red,
Yet the real news lies cold and dead.
...

I was the boy who never spoke,
who sat at the edge of the classroom,
watching the world move like a play
I was never cast in.
...

Let her be the storm, the sun, the rain,
Not a prisoner of silent pain.
Not a dream caged in someone's hand,
Not a whisper lost in shifting sand.
...