The men of this forest aren’t ashamed of comparing themselves to flies that feed on every piece of sugar they find; They said I was sugar, so is now the time to lose my nectar, and lose my flowers.
I replaced the lilies on my head with pepper sprayed roses, for now, I don’t even care if I go bald. For now, they found sugar in a three year old flower.
Last time, they stroked at iron rod into a woman working for a cause and a respectable old man laughed, “boys’ mistakes aren’t crimes.”
No crime, on the blood of my sisters they dine.
Shall I look down upon my gender, or I cry over the plight of my women losing their family after losing their honour.
Honour, stroked into their vagina like a rod.
A rod, to be pulled out everytime a woman gains power.
A rod, to hit her in the head and ask, “where’s your honour?”
A rod will be your pill to swallow, filthy men.
My honour lies naked, unashamed, unbent, proud, erect, in my eyes;
(image: Ancient Pages)
I gave myself this title a short time ago.
I have always felt it in me; I am meant to cleanse the world of its neck-gripping flaws that suppress women.
Mahish.asur-mar.dini – it’s a sanskrit word that means ‘killer of monsters’.
I hope to kill them in my poems.
I hope to kill the monsters in the minds of people.
I am change; I am breaking every glass ceiling I see. I will make this world better.
You can also check out my work on Instagram : @nidhie_saini