The scars on her body said it all,
How much she was tortured all night long.
The accused was bailed,
Much to her dismay,
Was it her fault that she was raped?
“It must be me,” said the skirt.
“No, it happened to me too,” said the saree.
“Me too, ” whispered the burkha.
The eight-year-old just had to lower her eyes.
Stop blaming the length of her clothes,
It’s your fault she can’t go out alone on the roads.
Aren’t her screams enough for you to see,
The pain, the agony, the trauma, the grief.
Being ladylike is not her dream,
It’s just an ancient term used to control her screams.
-Krutika Srivastava

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