I was born under the sky with a million stars,

I don’t know what it’s like to have abusive scars.

I never had to worry to put food on my table,

I’m blessed to have been financially stable.

My caste, my religion is my iron shield,

For drinking water from a well, my son doesn’t have to bleed.

My voice is heard because I’m so pure,

But my dalit friend’s struggle is always obscure.

I don’t know what is discrimination,

Because my last name is not my limitation.

I pled after riots, but I don’t end up dead,

I’m still not anti national, because I don’t wear a white cap on my head. 

But why do I still always play the victim card?

Why don’t I see others life is also hard? 

Why am I exasperated when others climb up the bar?

Why do I forget I was born with million stars?