Skip to main content

# Why Me #Why He

An effort to give voice to the innumerable girls who were not fortunate as we were..........


#Why me ?
#Why he?
Is this question going to try me?
Question that is often asked,
By the perpetrator whose face is always masked.

#Why me?
#Why he?
He who was supposed to teach me how to fly,
Made me sit on his lap and gave me not one but thousand reasons to cry.

#Why me ?
#Why he?
He who was my guardian angel
Made my hair all entangled,
My eyes were puffed
Why he, insisted me to keep my mouth shut.

#Why me?
#Why he?
Used candies and toffees to weave a sweetened net,
Which was soon converted into a bitter web.
Web from out of which l couldn't get to my protected shell,
Because he had converted it into a horrible hell.

#Why me?
#Why he?
In open pats me on back
When in confinement he crushes that very back.
His hands turn creepy
Whenever l am sleepy.

But now no more
#Why me?
No more
#Why she?
Let your voice be loud
So that the truth is seen by the crowd.
It's not me or you who needs to feel shy,
Rather it's him ,the evil personified
That needs to cry.
Cry for the evil done,
Which can't be now undone
Which can't be now undone.


Comments

  1. Girls even boys should tell their parents or confidants about such shameful people and their evil acts.Well done Manika .Your poem reveals the hidden reality .It shakes the heart and fill it with pain.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Horrifying reality of today's world...

    ReplyDelete
  3. Commendable work...an eye opener for the world

    ReplyDelete
  4. Yet another heartfelt and powerfull poem!

    ReplyDelete
  5. May God save all girls.....may the evil doers be punished

    ReplyDelete
  6. May God save all girls.....may the evil doers be punished

    ReplyDelete
  7. Hearttouching and painful vociferation but lets hope it to become a bad dream.Another grt work Manika.

    ReplyDelete
  8. Truth of today's society.....commendable work mam

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Do leave your comments

Popular posts from this blog

When Skill Meets Determination:A Salon, A Story and a Salute

Since time immemorial, both men and women have wished, ventured, and craved to look good, better, and sometimes the best. In every nook and corner of the world, whether in a bustling city, a quiet suburb, or a small village, salons and beauty parlours stand as testimony to this universal desire. With each generation, the dependence on such services has grown, shortcuts have become acceptable, and professional grooming has turned into a necessity rather than a luxury. This observation isn’t a conclusion drawn from research; it is born from personal experience with my twenty-one-year-old daughter. Having recently begun to manage her life independently, she is particular about her appearance and outlook. For the past three years, she has been living abroad and returns home every December for a month. During this time, she sweetly wishes to be pampered in every possible way. One such indulgence is getting her hair washed and blow-dried at a salon so that her curtain bangs remai...

Fire

Fire, fire, fire, Can I dare to beg of you to be hired? Hired by someone as fragile as me, A timid soul, afraid to set herself free. I know I am too timid to dream of taming you; It is idiosyncratic, perhaps, to think this through. It is in no way wise to walk these lines, Yet your fierce companionship my spirit designs. I want you by my side to help me burn away All that is negative, all that leads astray; All the weeds in the dying, diminishing garden of my life, All the bitterness, sorrow, and silent strife. The effigy of greed, of need, and all that dares To kill fine human values and replace them with snares, Needs to be set on fire, yet I feel My weak bones lack such divine zeal. Though I aspire to rise like a phoenix from my ashes, To emerge renewed after life's cruel clashes, For that, you must become my ally, A force within that will never let me die. Fire, you who are a symbol of both death and resurrection, Of destruction, creation, and sacred transformation, You graciou...

Silence

Silence is serene. Silence is solace. In several ways, silence saves the savage soul. Silence is static, strong, like sky-kissing mountains circling a sleepy hill town. Silence is somber when it stems from sadness. Silence strives to sleep over sickening strategies. Silence confers the childlike sleep upon the soulful, while it steals the peace of the soulless. Silence smiles and silences all conjectures. For a few, silence is a sweet remedy; for others, silence is a malady. For some, silence is a question impossible to crack. For others, silence is the answer to every crux. For some, silence is a shield. For others, the sharpest knife, the searing scythe. Most times, aparently silence saves bonds. At times, it breaks them into forms unrecognizable. Silence wears the face of a silent sage, yet stands indisputed as  a symbol of untamed rage. Life screams. Death silences. silence is a voice in itself, raising walls too high for unwanted noise to climb. Silence is a misunderstood path...