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Diksha Prashar Sep 2019
Always walked with her eyes casted down,
just that she won’t stumble head down,
into jungle of varied emotions,
cobwebs of various notions,
Lot goes in pretty head of hers,
Eyes are down,
Mind always up in clouds,
searching for answers
defining her pronouns,
Her eyes trained on ground,
looking for the evidences
she couldn’t announce,
One day her eyes will
meet every stray,
till then they will
remain down casted,
Away from preys
solfang Apr 2018
Maybe that's why
I prefer dogs;
animals probably have
more culture than you.

the way you take
quick glances at my trembling self
by the roadside,
with ear-piercing whistling—
does that excite you
as much as it scares me?

you made me look at
my long-sleeved dress
and ankle-hidden boots;
yet I question,
are my outfits deemed ******
till it entices your manhood?

I grip my bags firmly
and wallow in self-grief
for temporary relief,
as I fear more than just
compliments threw by
preys on the streets.

should you disagree,
of my brother,
whistling and signalling
your blood-sister,

should you disagree,
of my father,
oversexualising your mother,
then don't be a disgrace
to the ladies watching.
It was a sunny afternoon, and I was wearing a formal knee-length skirt and a loose, long-sleeved blouse. And then there's the cat-calling.
I can't believe I'm drenching myself in sweat to avoid this— and it still happened.

Just stop.

— The End —