There are cries of pleasure,
And there are cries of agony and despair.
Sometimes there are decrees,
Like the coming of age, of the girl child,
Where fate lines up encounters,
Of the choice-less, merciless, kind,
When the prototypical budding life,
A child with discernable breasts and hips,
As seen through the eyes of leviathan,
And the gangly tentacles clasping,
A fragile voiceless creature – the child bride,
Who in earnest, can carry innocence,
Inside tattooed blood capillaries,
And tissued walls, in that 9 month long hibernation,
Called gestation, where demonic genes
Will exist in co-habitation,
With beauty’s irreplaceable carvings.
And in that cry of ambivalence,
Of imprisonment and emancipation,
Betrayed by a patriarchal system, that
Has no axiological worth for the co-expression,
Of twin X chromosomes, of a crash test dummy,
Battered by a foul-smelling beast,
Lies the mother of all evils;
The girl child, whose oyster shell, was forced
Open and yet the enchanting pearl inside remains
Untouched, below seaweed forests,
Brilliant dinoflagellates, and tidal cover.
As the girl child looks through the never-ending rain
At the promise of an arcing rainbow, and wishes,
She could disappear down, a rabbit hole.