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The Privilege And The Grimace
The Privilege And The Grimace
I have a privilege to
Use my vigour
To champion myself
Or to pretend am one.
I have a privilege to
Decide what I do
To think I shouldn't
To regret what I didn't
I have a privilege to
Loud laughs and cries
To being bold or being shy
Often coming up with
Hows, whats, wheres and whys
I have a privilege to
Demand what I need
To state when I don't
Followed by no explanation
Following a full stop.
I have a privilege to
Dream high or rather low
To stand against what's unfair
To let the others grow
But,
A mile from here
A place I have never been
Neither I would want to.
Lives a woman.
Has a name of no consequence.
Might be in her 20's
But with the only fire,
Where she cooks,
Burning welly of her own words.
Often Boiling
her rage
In the food she makes
Serving those to everyone
Before a whit she takes.
Chewing them latter
Like her desires and outbursts.
The night is her terror
Of ghastly fissures
Where she hardly begs.
Manhood danced on her head all noon
Now it's between her legs.
Shoving its power
Against her will,
Leaving her bare and stock-still
In her stance of death,
Whither she slumbers,
In the grimace of
Her being a woman.
The tears in her eyes
Have evaporated in
The heat of her own pain
She knows it of no rape.
It's her man !! My unprivileged side now
Is at a conceded peace.
Far apart from her
My privilege of being a woman
Has her, in my thoughts.
Failing itself terribly and constantly,
Having her in this battle.
A battle, forseen and already lost.
