I was rereading(Nabokov tells us this is all the reading there is) 1984 the other day and hit a few passages on the importance of memory. That, coupled with Trump and the Indian right wing, inspired this poem. Thanks, neo-fascists :)
Speak, Memory. Speak for us.
Speak for old men in starched white cuffs,
Who In daylight and dawdling night,
Speak under distant stars and of folded lies.
Speak, Memory. Speak forever or behold,
The writer, the poet—their spirits will hold
leave their mark on your timeswept brow
And tell tales, of those buried below.
Speak, Memory. For you will die,
Time is swift and slow and sly,
Speak for scribes or scribble it yourself,
Speak, do not let your stories die.
Speak, Memory. Let the darkness not hold,
Unravel the folded lie with your faded voice,
Speak for the past, which the tyrant sold,
Tell the truth, let it be known, and rejoice.