What Is To Be Done --- AKSHR

What Is To Be Done

When the cities forget the language of birds,
when children inherit smoke instead of stars,
when oceans choke
on the plastic skeletons of progress,
someone whispers:

What is to be done?

When truth walks barefoot
through courts of gold,
when the poor become statistics
and the lonely become invisible,
the question returns
like thunder beneath the ribs.

Not from books alone.
Not from parliaments.
Not from prophets wrapped in certainty.

But from tired mothers,
factory workers at dawn,
farmers staring at wounded soil,
young souls scrolling endlessly
through glowing emptiness.

What is to be done
when humanity becomes a machine
that consumes its own heart?

Perhaps—

to plant gardens
inside ruined centuries.

To speak gently
in an age sharpening knives.

To protect rivers
as if they were sacred poems.

To refuse the worship
of cruelty disguised as power.

To become impossible to corrupt
with hatred.

What is to be done?

Carry water
to the burning world.

Write music
for those drowning in silence.

Hold the trembling hand
of another human being
as if holding
the last candle on Earth.

Because revolutions are not born
only from bullets and slogans—

sometimes they begin
when one person chooses
not to become cruel.

And maybe salvation itself
is nothing more
than millions of small kindnesses
quietly resisting the darkness.

So ask the question again.

Ask it beside broken nations.
Ask it beneath poisoned skies.
Ask it before mirrors.
Ask it before sleep.

For the day humanity stops asking
“What is to be done?”
is the day hope finally dies.