By Indrakhi Bhattacharjee
My body.
My womb.
My blood.
Yet you rule: the shame's all mine.
My body.
My breasts.
My child.
Yet you say : the shame's all mine.
My body.
My curves.
My pain.
Yet you decree: the shame's all mine.
Your eyes.
Your gaze.
Your thoughts.
Why then is the shame still mine?