Posted on: August 22, 2018 Posted by: Anchal Srivastava Comments: 0
New form of colonialism

When did we grow up to be such beauteous young women?
Was it while we were cycling around the park in the scorching June sun,
Was it with all the bruising that we had begotten while clambering up those uncemented walls,
Or was it just those insurmountable pangs of pain that the heartbreaks brought?
Apparently, frolicking to the tunes of Ring a Ring o’ Roses,
Filled our souls with poises along with our pockets,
The pink tainted lipglosses added a peachiness to our characters as well,
And the gala dress we had put our minds together to added a gala aura around us.
Ohhh…and what of the fulcrum that we had positioned so comfortably,
To maneuver the system of levers.
I guess it was in anticipation of the balancing act we would later have to feign in life.
And the movie where the lady worked a sex racket to put bread into her child's mouth,
I think that too showed us,
That us women,
We were made to conquer that which others succumbed to,
We were made in parts of stardust,
And in parts of charcoal.
Embracing us would mean consuming both.
Then there was the murderer we visited on our rehabilitation programme,
That’s when we discovered that
In life, there would come instances
When the morals and ethics would have to take a trip to Timbaktoo,
Bcz not everything here would be ying or yang,
Not everything here would have a reason or rhyme.
Thus far we have come,
Without getting our bones crushed under the weight of the world,
I can’t help but wonder,
How and when did we become such beauteous young women?

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