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