Don’t call us dead

Standing behind the wall, forbidden to look tall,

To be the dainty taste for a man’s unsatiated hunger,

The tale of a woman’s right to emancipation has seen it all.

To be a thing of beauty and to keep her head low,

She is asked to bow in unison and to their demands mellow.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

In her eloquence, she fosters the existence of shuddered breaths,

Yet in the silence of the sombre, it is her prescribed duty to nurture the souls that torment her to death

Longing to fly high, she toils in the pursuit of her fulfilling dreams,

Deemed to be delusional, she hides her pain as she in her silence screams

With courage she trods, with wings she sets her intentions afar,

To be the best she has ever been, to pay heed to every hidden scar.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The world bemoans the ferocity she radiates,

Labelling her the victim of feminism 101, for she proved to be too blinding to their taste

Rising in their power, blazing with might, feminism in every aspect of equity it bleds,

For those who believe the divinity of feminine and in gallant echos screech,

Don't call us dead

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ideals of feminism and the concept of gender equality walk hand in hand,

I yearn for the day when we breathe in equity in every realm of this utopian land.

An abode where misogyny and toxic masculinity lose their way into the unknown

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A world where women feel safe and celebrated, and men can unabashedly share their hearts,

While walking each other home,

To themselves!

-Hridya