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Namita Anna Givi Apr 2018
On a late foggy winter night,
Walking down the lane with a heavy mind
For it was December and celebrations were at hind,
Harrowing two years, all alone in the metro flew;
Sacrifices for those pennies, for a perfect Christmas back home.

All seemed so near while chatting with him, my plans
Never knowing it was soon to be my “black day”.
Soon to be punched, tossed and gnawed upon
To be jeered and taunted, thrown off like a rag doll,
All for a reason of being born:
For being in this world, born as a ‘girl’.

Oh! in that hell on Earth, with those savage beasts
All alone. Do ask them, didn’t I?
Did I not beg, fall at your feet, as you tore off my tee?
Didn’t I bawl as every atom of me revolted your entry?
Did I not plead for a water drop, as every ounce of my energy drained?
Slowly it hit me how I ceased being a human, more like a prop for them.

Desperately I fought that day, **** and on my own-
Losing battles for my pride and for justice one after another,
Lying down on the road, I did hope for Santa to come early that year
Wishing he would put another day in my ‘Christmas stocking’.
Just to show these cannibals — how it feels,
To be left of nowhere — Neither dead nor living for 13 long days.

I know I am a dying light, yet I wish someone would kindle it;
Awake the sleepy heads across the nation to fight-
For there are more “Nirbhayas” across the country and the world
Battling against many more shameless dastards
Wearing innocent angel like smile in the morning,
But as dusk sets in, the Lucifer returns to hunt.

Find them, **** them — no, it’s not for revenge,
It’s from the brave heart, a prayer-
For there shouldn’t be another me… not now and not ever.
December 16, 2012, was a black day for people all over the world who knew her. And for Indians, it was a dreadful self-realisation, the superstition of ‘woman’ being safe when accompanied by a male figure was shattered into pieces. And a monster was revealed to the world, freaking out every female in the country and me, a then 17-year-old was one of them.
The Flipped Word Mar 2015
The tears keep falling
drip drip drip
And they keep tearing my clothes
rip rip rip
Just take some tape and put it on my lips
Freedom of speech is an illusion as it is
They say our "culture" isn't a place for a woman
so that's why 70% of Hindu gods are male

Oh Wait
Ah well, better to be worshipped than to be whipped, I say

Oh please don't glorify me, it's not what i need
i can do without your worship, I plead
you don't have to set me up on a plank
just treat me like an equal among your ranks

Why is it becoming so hard to breathe?
It is the necklace of your fingers round my throat
Why are you choking what you claim as your own?
I'm not India's daughter, I'm India's ******
Meenu Syriac Mar 2015
She stood in the middle of the courtyard
Her arms outstretched, embracing life,
What little she knew of it.
In the rain, she let her bonds fall to the ground,
This sense of freedom, if only for a moment,
She wanted it to be her own.
That brief time, between fearing and dreaming,
She let herself loose.
As the rain washed the blood and the mud,
Her soul needed the cleansing, she thought.
For the first time in years, she chose not to look for scars,
She forgot the pain.
In this big house, she was a prisoner.
Prisoner of rites and beliefs,
Of men and patriarchy.
And only when the rains came to visit,
Did she forget the cruelty and the evil.
Only then, did she believe of balance and equilibrium,
Only then, did she wish for rights and freedom.
In her dreams she saw a much better world,
Outside these four walls.
And in those dreams,
She wasn't a prisoner of fate or creed,
She was a woman of no fears.
In the light of all that is happening in India...
©Meenu Syriac

— The End —