A Woman

BY RIYA NAGPAL

The hue of 'red' for roses

announces your love and care;

but, the same colour 'hurts'

when you see it on my underwear.

You spoil me with

diamonds and regalia - pitch perfect.

Why not bejewel my existence,

adorn me with respect?

Marriage -

a union until death, a magical escape,

a wreath of vows;

but what about marital rape?

You sexualise my breasts

when I haven't even flowered,

whilst I'm still a seed.

Yet, you detest and repel them,

if a child they feed.

You treasure the 'no-makeup' makeup,

embrace this art of the feminine,

concocted by all colours and tones.

But why no love for all shades of melanin?

First, caress my soul.

Cramps to menopause - honour all my carnal revolutions,

accept the scars and stretches,

for I'm no ordinary fruit of evolution;

I am a woman.