As the clock strikes eleven, perhaps not the twelfth
A women passes by in the narrow streets
The darkness is so grave , like her future and ours too
So dark that we cannot see the perspiration on her face
The petrified deer walks into the snares of the hunter unaware
A life is ruined they might sneer, but a life is lost we consider
Under the prying eyes of the society she lives
A shadow of her dead soul, silently weeping
We the women, the bearers of the future
But fettered and bound by chains, unheard our cries
Unheard are the cries of the female clan upholders
But only heard are the mock of the pleasure seeking
For they catapult themselves towards the cease of the human clan
Should we walk shrouded as we do, veiled from others?
Or should we break the gap to protect ourselves?
Are we just the helpless puppets of few? To satisfy?
Or are we to live fearless like the upholders of future?
A woman- A daughter, a mother , a sister to few
And an object of use to others? But remember Oh! Vain Men
With the titles you recklessly display, A women take many forms-The one most feared of that of the Goddess Durga!
Health and Fitness
Tum Se Tum Tak
Anupamaa
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