A Call to the Keepers

Randhir Thiyam
It falls to us—custodians of the flame—
To guard the songs that built our living thread;
For culture is the fortress of our name,
A shield for children marching where we led.

No rescuing host will rise when echoes fade,
No stranger mends the ruins we forsake;
Once cast to dust, once bartered, once betrayed,
Our heritage becomes a grave we make.

So tend the root—its pulse, its whispered lore—
For serving it is serving sacred land;
To keep it breathing evermore and more
Is proof that time still trusts our mortal hand.

Let not extinction claim what love can save—
We are the sentries of the past we crave.