A saree draped

I don’t see myself in the mirror now,

Like a body which they said I should be.

An hourglass-shaped beauty,

Glimmering, no bruises.

Eyes looking down as it shows woman elegance,

As glancing upwards is facing societies fence.

The saree draped around, it should be done in a certain way,

As the gap between is magnificence,

must be looking like the embodiment, a Murat,

Every curve should reveal contentment, misplaced.

The woman who told me so wasn’t a nightmare,

A lot of conspiracy wrapped in my older version.

I felt pity for her, and then I draped my saree again,

She unavoidably saw me and muttered,

Is your saree too tight or you are making it tighter?

I retorted, I believe it’s contaminated.

Discerning me with her big brown eyes,

She snatched it from me, told me I ain’t the one having this liberty.

While she sauntered away from me,

I asked her to do her plates again,

Yelling at me subconsciously, she left.

I laughed a little harder that day,

As she came back to advise me not to talk this way.

Apologising with the utmost respect,

I inquired to her of all the myth,

she’s been emerging with.

Why saree should show the body, why we have to allure the men?

Without questioning her self she spoke

A woman is a mere body,

having a dominative gender above,

With no equal rights, we are their devotees.

I felt that pain in her voice that day,

I wish I would be more brutally honest if I say,

The only thought that hit me that day,

Was this lady is the last thing I wanted to be,

And my body is the only truth that I should be devoting.

-Riya Shah