She

Who is she?

A mother, a daughter, a sister,a wife

All, but not just she.

'She' is what she yearns to be,

Yet herself is what she cannot be.

She wants to be on the left,

But for the world, right is right and left is wrong;

And if she ventures to the right,

Alas, it's poignantly pointed out as wrong.

Songs and verses are written in her praise,

But she's not allowed to be the sole runner in this world’s race.

Her destiny is designed by the rest.

Sadly enough, she cannot be her own designer.

Her attires or her desires,

Her dreams or her whims

All are controlled, because she is she,

And the world is mostly about he, him, and his.

Source of infinite comfort and joy,

She is considered nothing but a toy.

Half of the world may laugh off this verse,

And say it speaks of orthodox stereotypes;

But a closer look will tell that behind ninety percent of powdered faces and trendy clothes,

The chic façade that hides

Be it a society queen often seen at kitty parties,

Dressed as per the kitty themes

Is the same woman governed and judged

By misogynistic beings;

An adaptation shaped to hide patriarchal shackles.

And the remaining ten percent,

Who are, to some extent, able to break free from chains,

Still cannot help but feel helpless

On late-night buses or trains.

She is fire.

She is power.

She is grace

An object of worship,

Mark my words just an object.

But only in words, phrases, and wise sayings;

Only if she sticks to the specific roles she was assigned,

And realizes the unacceptability

Of even a little sway from the 'ideal'way.