It's Getting Late

and Justice hasn't showed up..

Photo by Louis Galvez on Unsplash

Dear Readers, this is a trigger warning. This poem was written to process all that I am feeling in the aftermath of a rape case in India where a medical student was raped and left to die at her workplace in Kolkata.

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I bid goodbye to friends and pick up the pace, 
past the twilight darkness awaits to devour another innocent, 
because well.. girls should know their place.  
I see her covered in cloth from head to toe,  
yet there's no saying they'd let her go.  
Because what would the monsters know of a pristine child   
from a woman wild.  
To them it's all a game of blame and shame  
using it wisely to orchestrate and tame.  
It's getting late and I must go  a slew of judgements await in tow.  
Why was she out so late?!  
What was she wearing that let her being percolate?!  
She must've have done something to invite it..  
Her existence alone is enough to ignite it.  
The unsatiable hunger that lurks within,  
every monster she crosses paths with, might even be a kin.  
It's getting late and I must go  
there's no one to hold her hand,  
to rock her to sleep and let the pain flow.  
We will be on the streets, candles lit, protests on display  
as the monsters recede within lairs to be protected by the hypocrisy and powers with sway.  
The very hands who are meant to slay,   demons of injustice and violations act no more than molded clay .    

Your’ s Truly,

Zahra.G