Save the day.

​When u wake up
In the dawn,
With tired mind
Filled with endless frawns,
Of stares and jokes
On your looks,
Holding it all together
With tampons and hooks.

Laugh they may always
When you talk,
Scared that you may
breakfree that social block,
Slut, bitch, whore or cunt
They would say,
To make themselves
Have a better day.

“Inspite of being a woman”
Some would clap,
For a good work
Or an exposed strap,
And, “like a man”
Some would exclaim!
For a dared endeavour
Or a wishful aim.

When all else fails
They would try,
To touch, assault or rape
Till you cry
Scream all ,you want
You are the shame,
Your clothes, hair,breasts,
vagina take the blame.

Doubt not 
You’d be asked
Questions? Questions?
Boy or Girl?
Dark or fair?
Tall or short?
Career or family?
Age or marriage?
Job or kids?
Jeans or saree?
Your surname or his?
His family or yours?
Answers..Answers 
That you won’t have.

Still,
Everyday you would
Get up to fight
Put on the red cape
And take that flight
They would look up
And see how you slay
And the princess
Would have saved the day!

Indelibles….

I had dried roses
between the pages
of a diary,
which had some
dried words too.

I had hidden letters
in the corners
of a drawer,
which had some
hidden confessions too.

I had beautiful faces
inside torn pages
of an album,
Which had some
beautiful moments too.

I had wornout notes
in the pockets 
of a purse,
which had some 
wornout promises too.

I had a rusted tiara
wrapped in satin
inside a box,
which had a
rusted fairytale too.

I had them and
I had to let them go,
Yet, still

I have indelible stories,
hidden somewhere
in a secret space,
which have some 
Indelible memories too.

Trapped!

Spots, scars and freckles
Tell her story,
Yet in the effort
to get rid of them
She is Trapped.

Brown, black, white or grey
are all beautiful colours,
Yet in that shade card
defined beauty standards,
She is Trapped.

What she wears
Does not define her,
Yet in her reason to choose
Or reject her apparel,
She is Trapped.

Her body proportions
Accurate as they are,
Yet in judging herself
Naked everyday,
She is Trapped.

I see her trapped,
I urge her to break free
of her own judgments,
She refuses,
I break the mirror!
Yet in my own imagination
of her reflection,
She is Trapped.

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