HER

... at the brink of her tears, I see a story,

Walking a thousand miles,

To achieve even a millimeter

Engraves the rock to sail over the Nile.

The tired brown lenses,

Peeping through the doors of failure

Maybe a thousand times, 

But still up she stands 

To blow the whistle and chime.

Fighting every day with thoughts, so multiple;

With the shaming of her body to adjusting to her intelligence, 

To society pressure

 or comments about her

Peer;

 

The convergence of all these feelings 

Abates her mental health, 

Breaking down with suicidal prints in her mind, 

The tension absconding her consciousness,

And the underconfidence stabbing her kind.

Let her live in her own condition

To rule out her own suspicion

For she is no less than a male to compete,

Either by flapping her wings or standing on her feet.