INTERNATIONAL DAY FOR WOMEN
Innocent, vulnerable, she stood,
Surrounded by vultures, misunderstood.
Male intellectuals, on the rampage, they roamed,
The Campus rag, where her dreams they disowned.
Clutching her bag, a lifeline of sorts,
They tugged and they pulled, her spirit contorts.
It fell, spilling her midday meal,
Rice and one curry, a plight so real.
Slowly she bent, to gather the mess,
The price she paid, for academic success.
Top of the country, to enter university’s gate,
Yet here she found torment, her cruel fate.
After class, dejected, I walked through the night,
Witnessing her plight, an unjust plight.
On the sidewalk, she sang for some coin,
From indifferent bystanders, her efforts to enjoin.
“Oh winsome lass, are you the nightingale,
Singing songs at night, to prevail?”
She seemed to respond, “Let me mind my own,
It’s now getting dark, I’m here, all alone.”
Her earrings dangling, pretty and pure,
Playing her violin, her talent obscure.
I listened to her, her melodies so sweet,
Singing for rupees, to make ends meet.
Will she be tormented, if I talk to her tomorrow?
In the halls of campus, amidst sorrow?
A question lingers, in the silence profound,
For the girl with the violin, forever bound.
