She was made after him, and for him
Said the scripture, at the ending
Companion turned to bear the cross
A never-ending nerve racking loss

Without her, no progeny would prosper
But his XY factor decides the gender
For all his libido, hubris and pleasure
She suffers huge pangs to deliver

Every creed, community and faith
Puts her behind, ‘she shouldn’t speaketh’
What superior features make him claim
That she should always take the blame?

She is a commodity, brought home
A robotic equipment to perform
Continuous chores, having no breaks
Crediting all failures, his too, that sucks

Cover her fully, disallow mobility
Confine her, chained into the facility
Cook, clean, bring up kids she must
Make his bed hot and soothe his lust

Neglected, avoided and pushed out
Eased into the hell, she peters out
Into the dark labyrinth of unknown
Was she born, did she live, who knows!

*In support of the artwork of an unknown Iranian photographer above and in full solidarity with the Afghan women

Poem by,

Sri. S.R. Nair, ( Mentor Guru )
Sri. S.R. Nair, ( Mentor Guru )

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