Echoes of Her Footsteps

I Wasn't Silent

I wasn’t silent—
I had an existence.
I raised my voice against atrocities,
I protested, participated, defended.
I’ve been hidden in the pages of history.

In the land of the Indus Valley,
I lived under the rubble.
I was a poor village woman,
I made bricks with my sweating hands.

In the age of Vedas,
I was a sacred word.
I was inscribed in timeless hymns,
I was ancient and powerful.

I lived with Buddha.
My voice echoed in the walls of viharas.
I knew dukkha, I knew suffering,
I led the path of cessation.

I’ve grown as dynasties,
I’ve seen wary alliances.
I resisted invaders,
I fought for my faith.
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I Was the Movement

I’ve been known as the War of Independence.
I fought against my enemies.
I was moderate, I was assertive,
I was a revolutionary.

I came as a simple legend of satyagraha,
I held the pole of non-violence.
I wore the cloth of poverty,
I was the force of mass resistance.

I was shouted as a peasant,
I mutinied as a craftsman.
I picketed in front of liquor shops,
I roared like a lion.

I was a wheel—spread all over.
I was a wind—felt everywhere.
I was a fire—burning ever since.
I was freedom, life, and the reformer—
creation and rebirth.