The Stamp Paper Scam, Real Story by Jayant Tinaikar, on Telgi's takedown & unveiling the scam of ₹30,000 Cr. READ NOW
The Stamp Paper Scam, Real Story by Jayant Tinaikar, on Telgi's takedown & unveiling the scam of ₹30,000 Cr. READ NOW

Chandni Chandni



Chandni Chandni


My Breast, My Business

My Breast, My Business

2 mins

You shouted badly to cover up,

And innocent me had no choice than keeping mum.

Then shortly stirred the brave me to make you pucker up,

And that was the moment I lost being numb.

Poor you, don't you know breasts are made to feed?

Just recall the moment, you mothers also paid such heed.

It's a wonderful, yet a painful thing,

But lactating and cracked nipples forget the pain when little hands cling.

There is nothing lewd, trashy, or crass about it,

The filth is in the eyes that peeps out to hit

It's not your fault,

You are biologically programmed to stare at my boobs

But why?

Just like my arms, my face it's a piece of flesh

Sliding down the tubes.

May be it's hidden, has got sizes and of course bloats a little out,

The moment it peeps its head

You crave to see it sprout.

When I was feeding my baby-

You showered your hate, loath, detest and pointed to the brothels,

The stench of your hate hit my nostrils.

You called it black,white, fatty, skinny, flat, barren and passed every possible judgement,

I felt ashamed for feeding him in such a harmful scent.

Its surprising-

We are so comfortable with the sexualized breast

The breast in pornography, sexting and the advertisements going wild

But, not the breast feeding a child.

You starred with criticism, disapproval and condemnation,

My infant is hungry, crying and you asked me to change the station.

Strange, I am not allowed to nourish him in public,

Mind it I am not altering my station for I call myself republic.

You bullied me and my little one having his nutritious meal,

Guiding me to the bathroom is what you find the perfect heal.

Imagine you having a hamburger over the commode,

It's no less than having excreta in your food chord.

You may be feeling pissed even at the thought of it,

Well, that's how you want my baby to gulp every sip.

It gives pain to admit that woman is the actual doer,


Support her, push her for being a grandeur.

Your breast to you infant is a pillow of silk

Hold your head high

You have the super power to produce the milk

And mind it folks!

It's her breast, her baby, her choice

Your permission or approval is not required!

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