The invisible scar
Of the patriarchy
Hangs over us
Masked by the shadows of tradition
Concealed within
Dazzling bursts of color
Billowing skirts
And spirited dancing

Hot acid flung
Scathing, searing, scalding
Because weak men
Cannot handle rejection

Wed the one you love
And bring shame
Upon the family
Honor killings
Does ******
Bring Dignity?

#JusticeforNirbhaya
#JusticeforAsifa
And now #JusticeforAiman
Our only crime
Is being female
Yet fingers are still pointed
At us
At the length of our dresses
At the makeup on our faces
At the way we smiled

How long
Until we are finally fed up
With a society
That would rather
A corpse
Over a girl?

Brick upon uneven brick,
We built our standards high.
The stones we laid, morality,
Are slowly stripped away
By brick uneven brick.
Morality's demise.

At this table,
We do not swear,
At this table,
We show respect,
At this table,
We love, only love,
At this table,
We share our day,

In this home,
We do not strike,
In this home,
We do not spite,
In this home,
We show love, only love,
In this home,
We share our sanctuary,

Head spinning
Heart aching
Torn between worlds
Like cloth being ripped apart

One of tradition
Speaking my native tongue
Wearing my culture
A dress adorned
With the tales of nameless ancestors
Lost to history

One of modernity
Pursuing the passions
That burn like a blazing sun in me
Eyes sharp, voice echoing

Trying to find day and night
In search of me

No blood needs to flow
we may as well separate
and combat only in stories
who we are, brothers and sisters

with the common needs
for a place of their own and virtues
that are sometimes vices
knowing better, living better

thinking to be better
willing to sacrifice lives
for lack of an angel
who stops us

only reading the discord
in the stories and concealing
that we are brothers and sisters
as if we are not

It's a tradition, an old superstition
the night is hot
we'll go and do it
as soon as everyone is asleep
we sneak out of the house

leaving our husbands
as to take a ***

It is not far to the rock
with the flat stripe of white
In the light of the moon
we *** indeed
with laughter

while ******* for the picture
because we want to have proof

We slide our **** warm
over the pale stripe in the middle
of the Chilchliflue. Landed
in the grass, we feel
with each other

for the beginning
of a baby in our belly

Do we let culture, tradition decide our fate?
Whom we love; whom we fear.

The belief from misunderstandings,
devotion to the lack of education—
steer the wheel.

Is your influence thought through?
Is it within reason; is it justified?

We fear what we do not comprehend.
It is decided, but not by us—
others steer the wheel.

The master of the home, of your kingdom, come.
Is, will and will always remain to be: You.

You wanted her
The way a child wants a shiny toy
Right before Christmas

Thinking about her, the things you’d do if

You got her

You wanted the anticipation
You wanted the present,
wrapped up
with a nice ribbon on top!


You wanted to see her eyes sparkle
If you were to say something funny
Or endearing...

You wanted to taste her hot chocolate

But toys get old!

You should know, you’re not a child any more.
Every Christmas you end up wanting something new.

The only thing that remains is tradition,
Going home for the holidays

I thought I was tradition!
Thought I was home...

I thought a lot of things.

But I do KNOW one thing,
My hot chocolate is Christmas!