Volume - 1 Issue -2 March 2025
“Spectrum
of Scars: An Anthem for the Unseen”
Beneath the sun’s indifferent, gilded eye,
we etch our skins with borders—ochre, coal, sienna—
pigments twisted to flags, then fists. History’s loom
weaves night and dawn to chains, dyed deep in marrow.
The earth, once a canvas of unclaimed light,
now parses its children by wavelengths of fear.
Watch how crimson tides rise when bodies collide—
the atlas of us, scarred by latitudes of hate.
They coded our worth in the math of melanin,
auctioned ancestors under HEX values of scorn,
priced souls by the gram in the database glare.
Schools, cells, sidewalks—algorithms of exclusion,
where “diversity” blooms as a corporate mural,
yet hands clutch purses when shadows grow tall.
The ballot, the badge, the gavel’s cold script—
all hue-cracked tools in a masterclass of lies.
You’ve seen the gallery: nooses hung like
folk art,
the smirk of a headline that blames the deceased,
a mother’s wail muted to trending hashtag.
They pixelate riots but blur the cause,
reframe the fire as a failure of grace.
The museum of trauma charges admission—
gawk at the relics of breath stolen, spent.
Our grief’s curated, our rage under glass.
But the prism rebels. In the subway’s hum,
a Punjabi hymn tangoes with Bronx rap,
a trans woman’s laugh cracks the binary night.
Street murals bloom where the tanks once parked,
rewriting the concrete with ancestors’ ink.
Each protest chant is a chromatic scream,
scattering shards of the supremacist lens.
The marginalized spectrum refuses to bend.
We’re the ungridded, the riot outside the
RGB,
the brown girl who fuses quantum and Qur’an,
the indigenous codebreakers unplugging the west.
Your algorithms can’t cage our crescendo—
we’re tongues of turquoise, vowels of vermilion,
the rogue rays that fracture their sterile white sea.
We name our shades in the teeth of their “norms,”
reclaim the language that sought to erase.
So let the labs of hate spin their pale
theories—
we’ll drown their white noise in sunflower bursts,
in the roar of maroon, jade, bronze, and chrome.
The future’s a kaleidoscope we grip like a blade,
each face a frontier, each voice a new dawn.
No pigment is illegal, no lineage denied.
March 21st—we unsilence the spectrum,
and the world, in its blizzard of hues, finally sees.
-
Sivakumar Raman
