Receipts Of A Rogue Patriot

They say —

if you love your country,

you don’t raise your voice.

You raise a toast.

You drape silence in saffron.

You clap when the guns march,

and cry only when the anthem permits you.

I say, that's bullshit.

I pay taxes.

Which means I don’t owe you reverence.

I own a stake.

My money funds your patriotism.

My money oils the trigger fingers.

My money buys the medals

you pin on bloodstained uniforms

while the widows eat from pamphlets

of promises long expired.

Don’t you dare tell me to stay quiet.

Let’s get this straight.

The army is not God.

It’s payroll.

Brutal, bloody payroll.

Trained not to think, but to obey.

Trained not to protect,

but to execute.

They are not saints.

They are salaried sentinels

wearing the badge of nationalism

like camouflage for conscience.

The government?

A glorified accountant of borrowed dreams,

funded by the labor of a million

who’ll never afford a passport

to the country they’re dying for.

Democracy without dissent

is photogenic dictatorship sold as progress.

And governance without scrutiny

is a slow-poisoning autocracy

painted in election ink.

And the police?

Don’t even get me started.

Paid from my pockets,

yet they ask for more

to do their job, file a fucking report.

This is not protection.

This is extortion in uniform normalised into occupational tendency.

This is bureaucracy wearing a bulletproof vest

and asking for a bribe

to lift a goddamn phone.

But if I say this out loud,

you call me anti-national.

You say —

Don’t insult the patriots.

Don’t you dare

raise a voice.

Because in this nation,

obedience is patriotism,

and silence is pride.

Here’s the truth:

You can’t claim patriotism

if you treat accountability

like blasphemy.

You can’t love your country

by worshipping its weapons

and fearing its questions.

I question

because I pay.

I pay

because I believe.

And belief, real belief —

isn’t silence.

It’s scrutiny.

So the next time

someone calls you anti-national

for demanding answers,

don’t flinch.

Just ask them:

“Are you scared of questions—

or scared of what they’ll unearth?”

And if they still say

loyalty means keeping your mouth shut,

smile, lean in,

and whisper:

"I’m not the problem.

I’m the bill you forgot you had to answer to.

And your nationalism?

It’s on my fucking receipt."