Tag Archives: women

Ask Yourself

You take pride in
boasting about
you are a HOME MAKER
ask yourself
are you also
within the four walls of
your  home
are you even a consultant ,
a participant in the process of
decision making
I am no crusader
just a fellow traveller
on this earth
who is asking you
an uncomfortable question
you are not bound to answer
but I seek your indulgence
please question yourself
more often
who are you
what is your purpose
on this earth
because you are
a soul
not just
not merely
a Home Maker
there is more
to your story.
make it worth telling
choice is all yours
you have to  choose
between being a door mat
or a self respecting being
make your choice
all of us are home maker first
but we need to be
decision makers as well.

Womb’s Doomsday !

A subtle journey from cells to embryo

Naughty! The cuddling of XY chromosomes.

A girl’s gender embossed magically

Blooming of lily with soft scented skin.

Slowly, she grows an angel with golden wings.

Her thrilled wings embrace the dawn of her life

as her wings know no boundary or fear

for she is wrapped in butterfly’s freedom.


Alas! she never saw the eagles hovering above

as the predatory eyes never fail to spot the prey.

For its greedy eyes and sharp beak are always ready

to hijack her to the lonely cliff with accuracy.

It never misses the first opportunity fall on its way

to brutally tear the flesh brimming with modesty.

With crooked talon it attacks with such lusty acuity

Her screams and defence fails to rescue her dignity.

She is in blazing pain and her tenderness coarsens wholly.

Her dawn bleeds to dusk and turned to a scary midnight

and the ebony too failed to conceal her bareness.

The night suddenly possessed with nightmares 

and her sleep is hanging on its noose as pangs.

Life stares at her indifferently and she lay there fragile.


The bruised soul’s muted pleas raise million queries in oblivion!


How long the perverts rampage her femininity as if their right?

What if she was their daughter, sister, wife or mother?

Would they be so insensitive to react as if no conscience?

Why she is just an object for carnal pleasures and nothing else?

Why cruel rapes, dowry harassment murders and suicides unending?

Why peaceful breath and safe environment is prohibited to her?

Why such media extravaganzas on her ruptured body and soul?

Who, how and when this nasty play can put a stop from being played in loops?

Does she not deserve answers for these questions with solutions?

Or shall the questions remain answerless as if destined?


Truth is, she shall never remain the symbol of patience

When her immense tolerance tested as delicate and let it bursts.

Then the Goddess of destruction in her shall reincarnate as solution

to reinforce her lost dignity, respect and feminine power

for which she shall sacrifice her divine power of womb

and mark the doomsday the world has never ever witnessed.


 © Maaya Dev

To Ravaged Nymphs

Today I am angry, writhing, moaning.
My lips are full of venom and pain,
My breasts are heaving, malignant
With the burden of human sins.

Let me not sleep in silken slumber
In the vain masculinity of your arms.
Let me not spread my legs and
Drift ashore in the ocean of your lust.

For once, today, let me break free
Of your smothering kisses,
Your broken sentences, 
your overused bed sheets.

In the humming silence enacted
In this room of practiced orgasms,
A shrill cry tries to distract me,
Calls me, breaks through the door.
A cry that pushes through my cervix,
A cry that burns within
This cherished cloak of femininity.

A cry that reminds me
Of the indomitable ulcer of RAPE.
Every minute, one out of three of us
In every corner of the world
Is crushed between your legs,
Your masculinity, a curse,
A puked reality in our lives.

For once, today, my love
Let me untouched,
Let me light the candles
For my sisters in pain!

Copyright: Lopa Banerjee
September 18, 2014

This poem is born out of sheer anger keeping in mind the recent news of the rape and molestation rampage plaguing the women in Kolkata and West Bengal. I dedicate it to all my sisters in India and also worldwide, to their bruises and tears, while knowing that this is the only form of protest that I can do now. The name of this short poem is inspired by a personal essay that I had written two years back, as an aftermath of the ‘Nirbhaya’ rape incident in New Delhi, India.