Broken Earth, Unbroken Voices( of Dalits)

Beneath the sun of a thousand years,
On the cracked and waiting land,
Walk the children of forgotten names
With calloused heart and hand.

They till the soil but own no field,

They build but claim no wall,
The weight of silence on their backs—
A history that haunts them all.

In dusty lanes of hidden grief,
Where shadows rarely cease,
A child still learns the ancient rule:
Your birth decides your peace.

The well stands clear with silver light,
Yet hands are pushed away,
For walls not built of stone or clay
Still guard the water’s sway.

Their prayers rise up with humble breath
To skies that hold no caste,
Yet earth below still writes the lines
Of a cruel and lingering past.

But listen now—the winds have changed,
The quiet is not the same,
From village paths to city streets
They rise and speak their name.

Their voices bloom like monsoon rain
On fields long scorched with pain,
Each word a seed of dignity
That justice cannot chain.

For every chain the ages forged
Is rusting in the light,
And every step the oppressed now take
Turns sorrow into might.

O land that sings of liberty,

Let truth at last be heard:
No soul is lesser, no life small,

No human made for scornful word.

From broken earth new forests grow,
From wounded hearts new art—
And one day caste will fade away
From law, from land, from heart.

Until that dawn, the story lives
In courage standing tall—
The oppressed who refused the night
And rose to claim it all.