The Feminist Mirage

To the intellect which labels her because she doesn’t sync in,

To the whispers which question her psyche.

To the opinions which do not match its actions,

To the society which is a lying hypocrite.

She has crumpled herself to a corner ill-lit,

Uncertain about her whereabouts.

She’s losing her capabilities,

Look at her inner vanishing clout.

She has forgotten,

She’s a beautiful hallucination,

Not a mere shooting star.

With fire inside her, just like the sun,

An angel in shining armour.

She might think of herself,

As a lost bird, in a deep blue sky.

Alas! She has worn her scars like wings,

And remembers how to fly.

To the intellect which labels her because she doesn’t sync in,

To the whispers which question her psyche.

To the opinions which do not match its actions.

To the society which is a lying hypocrite.

At dusk,

when she would burn bright.

You would turn to see,

what might shine?

Begging her to stay!

But, just like the sun,

With a dawn in her vein.

She would set,

And the wind would know nothing of her name.

And you would be left in wonder!

With only stinging heart,

And smothering fingertips,

to remind you,

If she was real at all

By:

Niharika Goel