Let us be

In a country where the definition of modesty changes every few kilometre;
there’s still a thread that binds us all together,
we have to counter the stripping vulnerability always,
which we feel with that piercing male gaze,
our natural body and its curves are made to feel;
like an embarrassing outgrowth that puts down our zeal,
our bra strap is made to feel like our dirty secret;
we instantly tucks it in and pretends it never existed,
the one layer of opaque clothing provided by the ‘churidaar’ isn’t enough;
God forbid, someone sees the natural form of the human being, it sucks,
never truly running that race on the sports day with all our heart;
Be’cz our breast can’t look like the forces of nature they are,
slapping scarves onto short-sleeved tops for trains, or worse yet;
spending fifty times the amount of money and time on a cab if we wanna met,
but the men have never once had;
to plan their travel based on their clothes, its glad,
instantly tugging at the neckline of our ‘kurti’ while walking through a dark round;
as men in shirts with the first five buttons popped open asses our moral ground,
we can’t seem to wear or do anything that quite fits the idea of ‘modesty’;
may be the definition is the problem not us, so ‘let us be‘.
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3 thoughts on “Let us be

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