Hotchpotch of past
and present, mixed in morality, cloaked in nationality, a melting pot of all
cultures but mine. I speak to the soul we have, of common history learnt in
classrooms (we are proud of our country). Nonsense.
Half-truths of
boiling minds. Killing the humans in the stories of his-tory. Violence and
bloodshed, this is where they are. Refusing to talk, talking too much, slogans,
dharnas, your devious ways.
I quit.
I cannot be this. I
want out of your great collective conscious, you who make my heart hair skin
diction dreams and self, yours. I kill in silence the soul of India.
