What Is Our Fault?

I am a girl.

Yes, I am a girl.

You people identified me

As a girl

When I was a little fetus

Inside my mother’s womb.

Save my mother, you people decided

To finish me at the beginning,

Thought that I had no right to be born

In the afflicted world.

But my mother protested,

And I opened my eyes.

My mother smiled, cried, became worried;

Your patriarchal society became angry.

Then I gradually started to grow up;

And you people threw a lot of restrictions

On my daily living.

Again with my mother’s effort

I dipped myself in the light of education.

Your society proposed that it was enough,

And I should be married.

One more time my mother’s voice was raised-

Your family agreed to drive us away-

My mother gave her consent

With one dangerous condition

That my learning would not be stopped.

You people nodded your heads

That it would solely be upon my in-laws.

You would not interfere.

Then I was married to a man,

Half-loving, more indifferent

To my wretchedness.

After one year the history was repeated-

There I was enforced to leave all and everything-

My husband, in-laws, my home,

And your so-called civilized society

To commence a new life

With my ill-fated new-born daughter.

I spent a hard livelihood thereafter;

Alone nurtured my girl-child

Avoiding the red eyes of society.

Perhaps you people got the news, perhaps not

That yesterday I got an appointment letter

For a decent service.

Now I fear nobody except Him.

I have got strong wings to fly high

In the open blue sky.

But one question still pricks me that

What is my mother’s fault?

What is my fault?

Even what is my daughter’s fault?

What is the fault of millions of girls like us?

Is it that we are born as girls?

Are we really the burden of this patriarchal society?

If you know the answer, please, call me—

I will surely reach your doors to hear your reply.