By Ningse Thonger
Patriarchy has
an exceptionally distinctive face,
Discomfortingly intimate to my memory.
In broad daylight, he audaciously
disallowed my liberty to opinion,
He nearly indoctrinated me that
the almighty did not build me for that;
He keeps filling my cup
with his misogynistic morals.
Announces I’m an inadequate-secondary mortal!
He invariably attended all episodes of my existence.
Applause to him, what is supposed to be my right
has now become my privilege.
He overruled my friend and her widowed mother,
Questioned their sufficiency to lay hold of their life;
I distrust he recognizes even a tint of their tussle.
He tells the lady next door
that it’s agreeable to withstand her abusive spouse,
Made her believe that he bestowed her, her identity!
Her silenced sob mirrors in every nook of the locality.
What a modern-day dramatic tragedy it has become,
That sermonizes not parallelism but unjustness.
His exhortation reverberates amoral bias,
His legacy causing miscarriage of equity;
I cannot, and will not, appreciate him.
I encounter him near and far throughout.
I see his face in every crumpled dream of a woman,
Who was not for a moment cheered to pursue her dreams.
I see his face on the disenchanted face of that little girl,
Who is ushered to feel that she is less of a human than her brother.
I see his face in the misfired, biasedly established social system,
Whose set of stages were never constructed for both genders.
His face reflects the faces of every dispirited woman,
Who is time after time compelled to believe
that she is not enough!