How it weighs on my heart, this hefty pen
Why a father ain’t, just another man, when
His ravished rhyme, wails at him agape
Of that manly crime, my daughter’s rape!
She wasn’t a girl, nor a woman too, but an enigma stuck between
Her princely tales and manly stares, in menses-marked frock, a little queen!
But a splintered woman now, she lay, in a different blood, in drape
Of my doll of clay, what’s left to say, but, my daughter’s rape!
The brute who stole her living daylights, on that ill-starred night
Ain’t different, semen-drunk like me, and manhood, his birthright!
And the cops, lawyers, judges all men, in this manly landscape
How a clan lives thru, time and again, my daughter’s rape!
She hasn’t slept since, though she dreams, that nightmare open-eyed
Then stares at me, then glares at the man inside
“Ain’t virgin now your poesy, nothing but a soulless scrape!”
With a brazen fancy, alas, I see, my daughter’s rape!
© 2016 Vikas Chandra
Rapists are psychopaths they need to be shot dead without trials
Reblogged this on vikas chandra.
this is such an incredible and unique point of view on something so many of us women have had to endure. thank you.
Thanks Dear for the kind words.