by Priyadarshini Panchapakesan – Follow @browngirlmag
They gag my mouth
with strips of dirty cloth,
saying I speak too much.
They tie my hands with ropes,
that cuts my flesh and stings my bones,
for them it is not about pleasure,
it is about power.
I was put in a prison,
bars of dominance,
didn’t let me out.
They thought I was trapped,
thought I was the caged animal,
cowering in corners,
keeping to shadows,
but the stink of fear,
came from them,
for they were scared of me,
scared of women,
because goddesses, once led.
All I could do was protest,
silent tears.
They laughed and said,
“She is a woman,
she can’t be free.”
But I fought.
We all fought.
Stripped naked of our identity,
soaked in humiliation,
we were handcuffed to a man’s world.
An occasional cough,
an angry look,
was all I could muster,
for poisoned leashes held me at bay.
Seeing my condition,
he felt pity though,
and threw wings,
I could fly now.
Angelic wings,
soft white feathers,
landed on my back,
the tips turned black,
for they smoked from my wrath,
and burnt into despair,
feathers became,
anger ripped ash.
“You ruined your own freedom”
he said.
By what?
By refusing fake wings?
When I knew I could only fly,
In the small caged world,
Constructed by him?
No, this was not it,
illusions of freedom,
would be thrown right back.
[Read More: Female Genital Cutting- A Continuing Tradition That Needs To End]
Priyadarshini has finished her bachelor’s degree in English Literature and is interested in writing articles, poetry and short stories on discrimination, gender bias, patriarchy, caste, and class.
