by Appy Bhattacharjee
(Silchar, Assam, India)

The words of truth that I hold
From the depths of hell I unfold
A story of stigma and torment
A tale of sin, an abysmal descent.

Pinned against the rough concrete wall
Prod, pushed and preyed upon
With stone cold touches of erring lust
The screams, the pleads that goes unheard.

Bruised and battered, a living corpse
Abused for the crime of being a girl
Behind closed doors pure innocence defiled
As souls stained red in blood and tears.

Yet you praise an idol with prayers and offerings
A deity, a woman of honour and strength
The Goddess in temples you worship with devotion
But condone the Durga that resides in every Women.


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