(This is a narrative poem where an unborn girl whose *** has been determined and instead of being aborted she is being burned alive. Her mother has been locked in a room which has been set ablaze.)
Late one afternoon,
I lay in my mother's womb.
I could sense her depression,
And knew she was facing oppression.
I heard something smash,
Inside I tasted ash.
I could feel some heat,
But casually mom took a seat.
Very softly she said to the girl inside,
"My dear listen to my story by my side."
She began as quietly as ever,
"I never wanted to live here ,never.
I was married at eighteen and my new family was quite mean.
Slowly,me they started to accept,
But still at night I wept.
I was under pressure,
In my womb I had to bear treasure.
The treasure was to be a boy,
But their hopes I did destroy."
The heat grew intense
And unbearable warmth i could sense.
Though mom didn't stop and said,
"My dear many tears have I shed.
I can't save myself,
Because the exits are no help.
They are locked and,
my hopes are blocked.
I want to save you dear,
But only to my heart you are near.
To life say goodbye
And to heaven say hi.
Your dad didn't want you to live,
And there ain't no good doctors in the village.
So if you die, so do I."
And with that sentence I felt the heat ,
And accepted defeat.

I am a flower
all of you must know?
Not really famous you see,
the rose stole that place.
Am I not a flower with beauty ?
Rose comes with thorns I come sin free .
Then why am I not used by lovers to express their glee?
Lately as I grew in the meadow,
all my followers questioned me .
They say they made me leader,
to defeat roses ,our worst enemy.
I tried so hard to make them believe
that we can live together through our friend ,humanity.
But they were all against it
and trampled me on the ground.
Like 'The Patriot' the years of hard work drowned.
I was their leader
I wanted to stand for the right .
and my friend 'the rose'
helped me sitting by my bedside.
We were both of the same ideals
both of us were thrown out.
Well now we tended to each other
as our days whisked by.
The devil flowed into their petals
we can't do a thing .
but I wish we could
I wish the roses and tulips could be friends
till time's end.
Gunnika mehra

The belt which holds your pants up,
The same belt holds my head high.
The game which you play at night,
The same game I deny.
The heels which I wear,
from them beware.
The make-up in my bag,
Is yet another instrument hiding my despair.
The smiles with which you greet me,
One day I will turn the tables Around.
Maybe today i ain't doing it,
But it doesn't mean that I wouldn't do it ever.
The day will come nd it will come soon.
Maybe you do not acknowledge me today,
But remember my day will come too.
It isn't only about what you did to me,
But what you did to hundreds out there.
Maybe it isn't daily that we speak up,
But the day we do can put behind the bars thousands of you.