She was a budding flower waiting to blossom,
when the storm came and blew away her dreams.
She was ready to fly and reach the skies,
when the wind came and clipped her wings.
He had no mercy on the little girl,
Wasn’t he ever a brother, husband or father?
Did he never feel guilty when the girl cried,
Why did his conscience not suffer?
She had been following similar news in media,
Of how the society had regressed.
How could it happen to her, she asked,
Wasn’t she always ‘properly’ dressed ?
He was her uncle, her father’s friend,
for her he was a fatherly figure.
But for him, she was an object of lust,
whom he so much fantasized and desired.
He pounded on her like a hungry animal,
and scratched her flesh to satisfy his ‘manhood’.
She died a thousand deaths in those moments,
as she lay there naked and soaked in blood.
She lay wounded in the hospital,
with police and media hounding her.
She felt cheated and betrayed lying there,
Her soul was scarred forever.
Will she ever get justice, will the man be punished?
Or will it be yet another case in the newspapers?
Will any punishment be enough for this man?
Will she ever trust a man another?
She was someone’s daughter yesterday,
But now for them, she will be a burden.
Her parents will also suffer from society’s questions.
Wouldn’t death have been a better end?
It’s just another day in my life,
as I hear her story in TV.
I pause, I think and then I forget,
Is it just another news story for me?
Is my conscience dead too like that man?
Why am I silent on the girl’s misery?
Am I not a woman? Shouldn’t I raise my voice?
Or should I wait till it happens to me?