Nupur Chaturvedi

The protestor calls out to me
From behind the makeshift mask
That saves her from real and metaphorical tears
The protestor looks into my eyes and the expression is a curious mix
A plea, a dare, a sneer, and yet a hope
That I will join her
And become part of a growing whole
What is she protesting?
It doesn’t matter
It is a composite struggle
It is a layered tapestry of asks and wants and rights
There is always something denied to someone
There is always a struggle
There is always a society in churn
What do I do?
Do I jump in head first?
Or do I take the easy road?
Where does that lead me anyway?
To artificial meadows and chemical-fed flower beds?
There is a choice I need to make
But it’s Sophie’s choice, isn’t it?Whichever way I turn, I lose.
I lose when I raise arms against the mighty unfairnesses and hypocrisies
And I lose when I stay silent.
The protestor doesn’t wait for me, she moves on to the next
And I watch from the periphery
I feel my feet getting cut
From walking on the thin edge.
I need to pick a side, or I will end up cut in half, useless to both.
I need to stand up and be counted.
I will lose myself if I don’t.