Sets upon a crusade,
The vista is grim,
Her visage, set.
To slay the demons,
that deny her, even the first breath of life ..
And then, battle prejudice,
her own trail of freedom,
meaning and fulfillment.
This crusade will end in
Hope demands, achieve it.
Reason questions, does it exist?
This utopian state…this myth?
Where everywoman walks alone, carefree ,
Not cringe at every footfall in the dark
suffer eyes that insult, and eyes that leer..
Or voices drip scorn,scathing,stark..
Where she doesn’t need to defy,
define or justify.
She is herself,
an ordinary person ,
not ashtabhujhadharini, not satee,
a gurgling brook, an uncaged bird,
wildflower, a breeze,
beautiful and free.
She will hurt,
she will bleed,
whimper or wail,
metamorphose she will
out of the fortress with walls silken,
she will tear, not quail.
Her horizons, seamless, beckon
to drink every dew- drop,
to ride every wave,
to dream every dream till dreams come true,
to live her convictions and not her laments,
reach the stars ,making meanings new.
Be the night ever so stormy
bleak, the morn.
Her spirit will shine,