By Indira Chakraborty
Silent whoosh remains—
Specter crawling, cruel, unrestrained
Through justice’s dim corridors,
Where bold voices are forever trimmed.
Hell: the universe ends in a victim’s cry,
Dignity sold, never bought—
No mortal fathoms this mortifying anthem,
Heinous crime echoing through generations.
Justice weighs severity,
Modern world shifts between rape
And a reputation that never lifts.
India juggles this curse—
Only 27.6% see justice;
Survivors become society’s jailer.
“Justice delayed is justice denied,”
2.4 lakh POCSO cases cold.
The accused, proved guilty,
Never endures spears that cut so filthy—
Society’s disgust barely felt.
“They don’t realize it’s criminal at all”—
Basic rights warped, centuries of law unchanged.
Remember Jyoti Singh—
December 16th, six demons, Delhi’s night,
Eternal light extinguished.
"Devilish manner... humanly unthinkable,"
Supreme Court’s blade;
Death sentences made.
“A girl is far more responsible for rape than a boy,”
Mukesh Singh’s satanic joy—
Victim-blaming casts its spell.
Kathua’s temple—Asifa, eight—
Monsters defile sacred space,
Authority turns away its face.
"Rising juvenile delinquency... requires attention,"
Justice Pardiwala’s warning.
“Boys are boys, they make mistakes”—
Mulayam Singh’s voice breaks
Silence survivors need to heal.
Unnao’s fields—Sengar destroys a girl’s dreams,
"Investigation suffered patriarchal approach,"
Court’s statement.
Bilkis Bano—five-month womb,
Gujarat’s communal tomb,
Seven family killed, eleven beasts savor might.
“In practice, the standard for rape is set
Not at women’s experience but above men’s threat,”
Judith Herman’s legal dark.
"Rape is power, not passion!"
Verma Committee cried,
"Expand definitions, end marital exemption"—
Laws lag behind redemption.
"Married women may also form part of survivors,"
Justice Chandrachud broke silence—
Section 375’s ghost haunts coast to coast.
Courtrooms: two-finger tests violate dignity,
"Test based on incorrect assumption... probative value does not depend on sexual history,"
Supreme Court’s fury.
"Restricting to skin-to-skin... leads to absurd interpretation,"
Judges struck down shallow thought.
Only 2.56% conviction—
Legal fiction, justice missed.
"When you rape, beat, maim, mutilate, burn,
You destroy life’s energy at every turn"—
Vagina Monologues’ truth.
"Why do men feel threatened by women?"
"They fear being laughed at," men replied.
"We fear being killed," women cried.
Blackhole’s trap—survivors’ pleas wrecked,
Wheel spins through India’s lanes.
From Assam’s 1,773 burning
To Rajasthan’s 5,997 yearning—
Conviction rates fall short.
"Women will suffer most from climate change
As lawlessness makes them vulnerable to rape’s range"—
Even crisis bears this burden.
"A voice is a human gift; cherish and use
To utter fully human speech, refuse
Powerlessness and silence’s partnership."
POCSO’s embrace:
Twenty years minimum, death for vegetative state—
Children still await.
"Feminist theory: rape as pseudosexual act,
Used by males to intimidate, dominate"—
Criminology’s shame.
Wheel goes on, every tier—
Women walk in fear,
Rape remains the darkest revelation.
But from ashes, voices rise—
"Nolite te bastardes carborundorum"—
Don’t let the bastards grind you down,
Transform pain into freedom’s crown.
What remains is not just silent whoosh
But survivors’ strength that won’t be pushed
Into shadows where predators hide—
What remains is justice’s turning tide.
In every name that finds voice,
Every woman’s conscious choice
To speak, to stand, to name the wrong—
What remains is courage’s song.
Let this poem be a sword of truth
To pierce darkness, save youth,
Transform the wheel from grinding pain
To justice’s liberating refrain.
What truly remains when all is done?
Indomitable spirit, never undone.
What remains is every woman’s dream—
Of walking free in her own land,
Justice swift, justice grand,
Where "human rights are women’s rights"
And darkness yields to morning’s light.