Girls are not just raised, they are trained.
Trained to lower their voices so they don’t sound manly
Lowering voices like flickering lights,
Suppressing their opinions and taught to only f
Trained to sit carefully, as if their existence takes too much space.
Trained to memorise rules that boys were never asked to rote
They are taught not to walk alone as if they need someone.
Don’t trust strangers.
Don’t stay out late.
Is what they hear all the time.
As true as it sounds, the fear is never-ending.
The world hands them a syllabus of caution.
Every street becomes a driving test.
Every stranger becomes a possibility.
They fear men whom they don’t even know
They fear every step they take
And the fear becomes a language that they learn fluently.
Not because they want to, but they have to
The ‘code of conduct of being safe’ sounds like
Walk faster, be it day or night
Whether one is on an empty road or on a buzzing street
Look down and don’t act bold
Don’t wear revealing clothes
Don’t show off your shaved legs
Don’t show off your cleavage just because you want to wear a certain attire.
It’s not your choice to wear what you want
Clothed or unclothed, the evil stare will always be there
It’s the society that decides what you adorn yourself with
They don’t tell you, but they judge you
An indirect suggestion on a woman’s inheritance of choice
It’s not gendered or scripted
It’s cluttered with thoughts and mentality
The libido, the impulses that make them monsters
Instincts that are to be protected and not hindered
Why should they be a certain way to be protected? Why can’t the latter change?
When will it stop?
When will the fear succumb?
The night should belong to every heartbeat equally.
And the day we rewrite this facade
The streets will finally get to see fearless souls
It’s easier said than done and seen
The city sleeps, but fear does not.
It prowls in alleyways,
hides in the footsteps behind you,
Her everyday ritual is to reach home fast
Not because she is late, but because the night has learned to stare.
Her shadow stretches long on the pavement
like a warning written in sheer darkness.
She may hear the leaves bustling, mistaking it for a man behind her
Her eyes scanning mirrors of glass windows,
phone pressed to her ear- a fake conversation with an imaginary
safety.
When it actually happens to her, she breaks down
The fight for justice is as long as you keep ageing
The jurisprudence fails to treat her as human
They examine her clothes like evidence.
They dissect her choices like a crime scene.
They blame her for what she wears and where she goes, not the one who has wronged her.
And somewhere in the courtroom of whispers
her voice is reduced,
to an echo fighting disbelief
She keeps fighting till she can breathe,
Breathe the air of justice that can never be found
She learns to survive and not live.
Meanwhile, the night continues breathing.
And the city continues sleeping.
But beneath the translucent light, there are thousands of swallowed screams.
Inside or outside the houses, with or without a marriage certificate
Waiting for a morning that makes them feel safe
A time when they stand up for themselves.
The poem shows the general setting of society for rape and zero safety. How a woman is supposed to be safe, a short glimpse into what one thinks and undergoes with a courtroom experience for the victims and a context of marital rape.
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