Scrolling down my feed
For the first time, I didn’t feel alone.
I felt I could relate to someone,
Even to people unknown.
Because as I read through,
All the stories they had to tell,
I knew I had lived those stories,
And seen all those fears dwell.
I had come across the demons
And still kept quiet,
Because the society scared me more,
When they labelled me wrong or right.
Maybe I wasn’t raped,
Still my dignity was molested,
But apparently if it isn’t physical,
The crime isn’t even attested.
No. My clothes weren’t ripped off
And yes, nobody heard my cries,
But as he traced the contours of my body
With his shallow prying eyes,
I felt a part of me being crushed
And torn apart into bits.
My honour had been harassed,
My soul was in the blitz.
But no matter how wrong they were,
I never had the courage to speak for myself,
Because people prefer to judge the victim,
Rather than help.
And just like mine,
I believe there are a million other tales that are still untold,
Leaving behind a shameful trail,
For the society, as they await to unfold.
So Now that finally someone spoke
About this social issue,
The only thing I want to tell is