By Haramrit Chhabra
From opening my Indian Express,
To feeling hurt with deep distress,
Every day, the same news pops up—
Another woman, trapped and struck
By a sinful, inhuman hand.
Nothing’s left—just dust and sand.
What are the rest of the people doing here?
Just watching the case, staring in fear?
Waiting for the mighty Kalki Avtaar,
As if the gods will heal every scar?
Or for Guru Gobind Singh’s brave parivaar,
Who once pushed the human race so far?
Questions rise for those in this race—
Why not stand together, and trace
The roots of pain, apply the pressure,
Help this world unearth its buried treasure?
Though gods once tried to end the pain,
Shouldn’t we act before we pray again?
Maybe the one who questions is wrong,
Standing alone, with words too strong.
But to the woman whose stance is ever bold,
Who carries on with a heart of gold—
Setbacks never became her excuse,
She bore the weight, let patience loose.
The smooth rhythm of life—her gift to all.
Oh, my dear! You’re a goddess standing tall.
Your daily struggles send a message clear:
Wake up and rise—cast out your fear.
My worries fade, my fears don’t last,
The moment I hold her hand—firm and fast.