Womanhood, this side.


With the nails, unpainted, no hue to obscure
What vibgyor meant, in another gist-abhorred.
Why colours matter on my dead old cell-mate?
When all the gray matter, matters at the end of the date.

Way the nails are painted, doesn’t shout my gender
Likewise, your chitter-chatter alone, baptise you no egalitarian
I am no Femi-nazi as you try to label
For what you have heard of Holocaust, is no fable.

No pancakes baked on my face, no selfie syndrome yet
Probably a misfit, amidst your ongoing folklore
Well, the Maverick inside tries to ascertain another tale
Without a doubt, framed for being such a chase.

My preference straight, for those who question
Not yet sexually abused, to get all tension
Why a fuss, over monthly dispense
No treason made, it’s just my bleeding trail..

The woman dwelling inside, says, she is like every other
But you mark with words stronger than my maneuver.
I care not, I care not..
But, the human inside burns with THIS imbalance, THIS polarity,
THIS weaker blot.

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