By Azra K
Why is it always about what women wear?
But not about how they stare.
Why does a woman’s virtue bear the weight?
While his misdeeds escape his fate?
Why is she told to tread with care?
To watch her step, to be aware?
Why can't men just learn how to be right?
Instead of lurking in the night?
Why do they blame her for his cruelty?
Why do they make her a liability?
Why does she have to be your own?
As if her worth needs to be shown?
Why don’t they realize that women are individuals,
Not just objects of their own rituals?
Why do we expect her to lean,
When she has the strength to stand serene?
Why are they free while she's restrained?
Why is her voice ignored and disdained?
Why do women turn away,
And let injustice have its way?
They say it’s because of society,
They say it’s because of women’s vanity.
But they don’t see—it’s them,
The ones who build these walls of grim.
Why won't they stop blaming her, unchaining her fear,
And let her be clear.
All she asks is space to be,
To live, to love, to just be free.
Yet she is left in a haze of doubt,
Haunted by the question: Is it her fault?
That burden is the true injustice she faces.