Divyanshu Mangariya Biography

I did not choose this name, yet it chose me,
etched deep before I could even speak.
Dalit—broken, scattered, meant to serve,
not to stand, not to dream, not to belong.
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Welcome, dear viewers, to the grand parade,
Where truth is bent, and facts are played.
The anchors roar, the screens turn red,
Yet the real news lies cold and dead.
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I was the boy who never spoke,
who sat at the edge of the classroom,
watching the world move like a play
I was never cast in.
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Let her be the storm, the sun, the rain,
Not a prisoner of silent pain.
Not a dream caged in someone's hand,
Not a whisper lost in shifting sand.
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