Why Is It Always My Fault?
Why Is It Always My Fault?
I ran
as fast as I could
Through the narrow streets
and dark alleys;
I somehow managed to find
a strangely empty
Police station.
I told the lone officer,
who seemed quite drunk,
About the two men
who were looking for me.
It began when they winked at me,
told me I looked like a delicacy,
And whistled,
as they began to follow me.
I persistently ignored them
and even attempted
To call the police,
but no one
answered.
They tried to touch my sari
and that is when
My instinct told me
to run.
The officer
looked a bit amused
As he took a sip of whisky
and said:
“It is past eleven at night, madam,
why are you
Roaming the streets
alone
In a white sari
that does not even cover
The entirety of
your skin?”
My relief
melted away
Into beads of sweat;
I was overcome by fear
as I felt unsafe
All over again.