They see a few women handling stock shares and scalpels not spatulas

And their sentences starts off with-"Feminism these days----"

And ends with a blatant lie.

While somewhere in the dust bowels of a distant hinterland

A father searches remedies for a daughter with Plath's Ariel

Many nights they grapple that thin line between

Ravenous stares and hovering hands so many times,

That the midnight sky sheds it's stars in disbelief.

Humanity stands both hands on face with shame.

I wonder how much concrete god cements on some men's bodies.

They question sanity of those who unleash ,

the fallacy of this post patriarchal society

If rebels are counter sane ,

If rebels are counter sane ,

name me an asylum

For I get visions of a world where we break knuckles of men who try to plunge us down

We write courage on our napes,

And retell this fable of stockpiled vulnerability they assigned us.

In the nation that I dream of

No woman lowers her voice under sirens screaming liability,

It’s all fearproof streets and hope sealed minds,

Henna clad hands step out from a hamster wheel of chores

Just to look at the sky.

.