Guest post by Neha Chaudhary. She is a full-time dreamer who loves to strike a rhyme with the world and words, one at a time. A non-stop chatter-box on one hand and a pensive writer on the other. She blogs here.
the very girl you now stand on the grave of
Who faced the ferocity in an ordeal that lasted
an hour or so
The hour I have traversed seconds of
For not being her ‘Hero’ as she wished
For now standing as a spectator on the pieces of past with so much as a goodbye kiss
For giving my hand in support for her to walk while she still crawled
Had she not stepped out, woudn’t she be here after all?
For bringing her up in a world driven by lust and hunger
That gobbled up my precious
And incremented the slam piece toll by just a number.
In a diseased society where respect never walked
What was I thinking
How could it ever spare my doll?
Today they debate
How she was at fault
How clothes provoke
How the time was Rapist’s hour
How she shouldn’t have walked that road
The fault was hers
For she forgot she is a girl
And you are sex-deprived
For she was clad in her birthday dress
And that set erections sky-rise
For she forgot her Invisibility cloak home
And she was in your line of sight
For she would have screamed when you violated her
And to you it was a pleasurable sight.
Of the child yet to open her eyes to the world
Of the little girl you see crawling in your house
Of the pretty princess you just dropped off to school
Of the ambitious recent-graduate ready to fly
Of the girl clad in red as someone’s bride
Of that old lady sitting alone in the park watching kids play
To either burn down your vicious lust
Or face my wrath
For if you even see my girl as yours to take
I will hunt you down
I will terminate your breath.
You put your genesis to shame
And each man’s head hangs low for being one
You walk with a weapon in your pants
And she should be the one under restrictions?