• The Feminist Times

What anger does to a woman




Men have anger on their tongues

Waiting to be diluted on women's skin

Men are masculine soldiers

Who melt into fragility only on the bed

They are dominating in the bed too

Women's rage burns like the acid drops that falls on ground of the first rain They carry rebellion on their sleeves

And their heart cold and enough to destroy this toxic masculinity

Women, they scribble revolution on their bare skin

When Amrita divorced him for a slap, she didn't deserve

Nobody does

She touched revolution in her palms

When the filthy touch of yours

Reached my underdeveloped breasts

It breathed anger instead of oxygen

Anger in, anger out

Anger in, anger out

Until coldness took it's place

The blood is crimson red and boiled

Yet it lacked warmth

When the flashes resurfaced of how my uncle wanted to see me naked in his bathroom And I didn't know how this was hide and seek

And he cupped my mouth so that rage doesn't reverbrate

and told not to tell my mother

Revolution took it's birth in my eyes

When I meet him now, my body still smells of rage

And my pupils peeping out with anger

Enough to bring shame in his eyeballs

And when he gets afraid to meet hiseyes

Revolution is still lingering in my eyes

When she was slut shamed for sleeping with the girl she loved

The larynx witnessed revolution when her voice didn't stutter from the filthy comments When he took her not so consensual virginity

Because that's what people do in love

And relationships are supposed to feel nice

But pleasure for you, doesn't mean pain for the other.

When you heard a no from her without apologies

Your hands didn't crawl again

Because today her lips didn't taste like soft mulberry leaves

You saw revolution written on my tongue

When the grandma in my neighbour who used to knit sweaters for me She was beaten by her husband for confronting him

He took his belt out, to make her learn his anger

She didn't hesitate to cross the doorstep

The fingertips of her feet has revolution imprinted on it

When you blamed the girl for being raped, because her short skirt was an invitation Her thighs painted revolution with anger

And all the voices that was kept shut for too

When she was Too less or too much for you

Her voice became the howling of revolution from the diaphragm in unison Enough to make your ears echo with the noise of revolution

And your spineless body stood shaking

When you saw what anger does to a woman

It turns her into a revolution



- Yamini Parashar

0 views0 comments