Voices -reborn.

​Our Century old tattered hopes are in rags

Enchanted dreams still hangs on every green cliffs

Confused among the conspiracies that hatched without a sound

As the twenty four hour channel portrayed the scenario like in a daily soap

Where the writers head winds up like our hilly roads

Conjuring up stories after stories

Leaving the hills muted left only to talk in wispers, even when she is the queen

She is the imprisoned and forced to gulp venom

Darjeeling being poisened is growing purple bit a bit

The land has been raided once again

Sounds of boots, thuds,thuds,thudding every corner of the streets

Voilence making remedy to suppress the voice of the masses

Simple common citizens just asking a big hearted country for their rights which they swiftly denies

As the state sends forces after forces to shut the mouth of the million gorkha voices

That’s not enough

Terrorist! Who? We

They label you for free

Yes, for free

When your brothers are in borders

 As country’s respected army men

 But where is that respect?

 Lost ? Gone,tossed aside, inside that dirty bin.

 Dirty,Oh very dirty dictatorship prevails in the heated hilly air

 O! Wait was Hitler born twice?

 Banning internet was such a clever move

 The rest is left dark, blank,that fear of revealing the truth.

 But we the Gorkhas are spread worldwide

 So suppressing a few will not stop our fight,our birth right.
We forgot when last we enjoyed the thunder, the lightening and the glistening monsoon rain

A sip of a coffee or the Darjeeling tea who is now quiet and in pains

Because what showered in the hills and gardens were rains of gunshots and thunders from rifles

Deafening the mountains, leaving her with bloody bloodstains, 

Erasing the faces of the three Gorkha voices, martyred men as the soil drenched.

Drenched with tears from a mother, a father, a daughter, a son, a wife, a sister, or a brother, friends or the entire Gorkha generation.

This is what you wanted. Right?

When will your tyranny end?

When will we breathe the free air?

When will your rule end?

Yes the art of Colonisation painted the hills even after the coloniser’s end

Your wrath may have fell upon us

Like a meaningless curse

But do not worry

Weapons we do not carry

With only a thread and a needle

We will March forward in solidarity

Sewing and stitching broken wounds that are still fresh

Sewing all that you ripped apart

Your attack on language was indeed a blessing in disguise. Yes

 I don’t wanna lose my mother

 I don’t wanna cut her tongue

 I don’t wanna stay forever dumb.

 Together we stand and voice more clearly, our demands

 Now do you hear?

 The hills of Darjeeling have come alive

 Echoing the Voices of its people

 Without a land

 Their never ending chorus

‘ Gorkhaland, Gorkhaland’

Their song





But even after many deaths

Our voice have risen- reborn and revitalised

As we sing that old song

“we want Gorkhaland

Gorkhaland, Gorkhaland”

More louder,more fiercer than ever.


Hear my poem in the video below.